Kingdom Under Fire Emblem
by Oddball 5.56
Summary: Sir Walter of Ecclesia, Captain of the Patriarchal Emissaries, destroys the Ancient Heart in accordance with the will of the Oracle...only for things to go horribly wrong. He finds himself stranded in a new world, and struggles to adapt and return home while battling against the enemies of Ylisse, and his own demons. Rated M because it's a story about war, and war is ugly.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **The Battle of Nowart**

Walter grunted as he pulled his mace from the skull of the Orc he had just killed, producing a sickening squelch as it pulled free of the ravaged tissue and bone. He kicked the limp, kneeling corpse away from himself, and stepped back from the line of battle for a second, to get a better idea of how the battle was progressing.

Things were not looking good, he quickly surmised, his rough features twisting into a frown. His Patriarchal Emissaries, the Ecclesian Empire's finest troops, were holding on by the barest of threads, and stretched far too thin. He saw only 3 infantry standards still waving from the vanguard, which, curiously, appeared to be falling back, despite his orders. _They know the cost of giving up their positions, why would Justino order them to retreat?_ One of the paladin units in the rear line, where he stood currently, had been decimated. His three archer companies and one mortar company were still intact behind the rear line, and firing their weapons as fast as humanly possible. It hardly seemed to make a dent, however, in the two massive armies arrayed against him.

The first of the opposing armies, approaching from the east-southeast, was the Dark Legion. An alliance between the heathen Dark Elves, the porcine, savage Orcs, and the brutish Ogres, all under the iron fist of King Valdemar, the Half-Vampire ruler of Vellond. Their black desert wyverns and mothlike, giant Dirigibles clouded the orange sunset sky above Nowart, and he even heard the braying roar of a Swamp Mammoth in the distance as it undoubtedly spewed torrents of acid on some unfortunate souls. All the while, the Orcs charged in an unorganized horde as the Dark Elves provided ranged and magic support, and the Orc beastmasters sent the giant Scorpions of the southern desert to kill him. They had been the first army to arrive at Nowart to besiege them, but not the only one.

The second army arrayed against the Emissaries, approaching from the west-southwest, was the main Ecclesian Army. He had expected a reprisal for his "treason", but not in such numbers; he was willing to bet at least half of the entire army had arrived. He even saw some Hironeiden Army standards flying, and those of the Elves and Dwarves; clearly, Ecclesia had called in all available allies to deal with him. If circumstances hadn't been so dire, he might have been flattered that His Holiness had deemed him such a threat. The Elves' magic and the Dwarves' explosive weapons filled the air with massive explosions, as the disciplined Ecclesian and Hironeiden troops marched into battle against their foes, knights and heavy infantry bearing the brunt of the assault while ranged and siege units provided covering fire. Despite their obvious objective to kill him, he was rather thankful for their presence; the Dark Legion would have overrun his position hours ago had they not arrived, diverting the bulk of the Dark Legion away from him.

 _So many men die here today, and throughout this entire God-forsaken war,_ Walter mused forlornly, _and all for some trinket?_ As he reached down to the satchel at his side, he acknowledged that he knew better than to call the Ancient Heart a mere trinket. It was an artifact of the Devil, resembling some overlarge red gemstone, a ruby perhaps. He had seen its power firsthand. He had watched it slowly corrupt Patriarch Dimitri, ruler of Ecclesia and the most devout man in Bersia. He had watched the Patriarch then use its power to subjugate Regnier, the Lord of Hexter, and propose doing it again to "unite" all of Bersia under the Empire's rule. He had personally nearly fallen to its foul power himself, pushed near to the brink of madness. It was indeed no mere trinket, but even its unholy power seemed trite when one measured the cost to attain it. That was part of the reason he had brought it here, to Nowart: to see the foul relic destroyed, so that no more lives would be taken in its name.

The rulers of Bersia cared not for the cost, however; the tundra of Nowart was now so soaked with blood that Walter doubted it would ever be free of the smell. And there would be yet more shed before the day was through, if the oncoming Ecclesian infantry unit was anything to gauge by.

"Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter shouted to his men as the new foe approached. Despite their fatigue and the hopeless situation, his paladins responded with a resounding cheer. It broke Walter's heart to know that so many men with such faith and zeal would die. Even if they were victorious here, they would all be tried and executed. _It's unfair,_ Walter thought for the nth time in the past few months, _but if this is the cost of fulfilling the Lord's will, so be it._ With that thought, the approaching infantry met with his line, and he gave himself once more to bloody combat.

He swung his flanged mace with fervor, crushing bone and armor and rending flesh. The enemies' own weapons, basic iron longswords, skidded harmlessly off of his ornate steel armor. As he brought his mace to bear on his latest attacker, the man's blood splashed across the metal visage of a lion's head that was mounted to Walter's armor. His shield deflected and absorbed blow after blow, the golden cross upon it becoming scratched and battered. Yet still his shield held, as did the rest of the Emissaries.

"Captain Walter!" he heard one of his adjutants, Lance, shout. Stepping back from the skirmish that was slowly winding down, he turned to see the man running up to him, out of breath. "Captain…" he continued solemnly, "Sir Justino's unit was…."

Walter's stomach churned in rage and grief as a cold feeling ran down his spine. Sir Justino had been one of his closest friends, and possibly the only one left to him after his "betrayal" of Ecclesia. The man had been a paragon of faith, fortitude, and zeal, as well as one of the deadliest warriors he'd ever met. Sir Justino was an exemplar of what an Ecclesian knight should be.

Yet, after everything they had endured together, he was gone.

"Had to rush to the Lord's Kingdom?" Walter whispered wryly, looking to the sky. "Justino, you shameless fool…" he then turned back to his adjutant. "How?"

"General Kendal, sir," Lance replied nervously. "General Kendal and His Holiness had been sighted to the southwest, and Sir Justino volunteered to engage him to buy our vanguard time to fall back to the lines and regroup. They're returning now."

 _So that is why they were falling back._ "Where is General Kendal now?" Walter asked.

"Approaching our position with all haste," his adjutant replied. "He appears to be ignoring the battle almost entirely in his determination to get here."

"How is it going at the Altar entrance?" Walter asked.

"The sappers are almost through," Lance said with a tone of relief. "It should be only a few more minutes now."

"So, this is it, then," Walter sighed. This was where the Emissaries would make their final stand. "Very well. Order the remaining Emissaries to consolidate on my position. If Kendal wants to see to me personally, I will oblige him." Lance saluted in response, before running to the horn signaler and relaying the orders.

Walter had no delusions about his chances of victory. With Kendal himself appearing to deal with him, he was almost assured to die. Kendal, along with Justino, had been one of his oldest friends. They had all joined the Army together, and had remained close friends even after Justino and Walter had been selected for the Emissaries, while Kendal had assumed command of the entire Second Division. Kendal was as much a paragon of knightly virtue as Justino, but even more skilled in the art of war, moreso than either Walter or Justino.

And now, Kendal was here to kill him.

He did not have to wait long. With the bulk of the Ecclesian and Dark Legion armies distracted with each other, very few of their troops actually got through to the Emissaries, allowing Walter to passively survey the carnage. Thus, Walter easily saw Kendal's personal unit standard coming from a near half mile away. Kendal and his knights seemed to be carving a path straight through the center of the battle, much as the prow of a ship cut through the sea; few stood against the onslaught for long. After a few brief minutes, during which Walter uttered a quick prayer for the souls of the Emissaries, Kendal broke through the melee.

The General wore dark steel armor that was only slightly more ornate than those of his own men; he always believed in being grounded and humble. His helmet was currently down, providing an impassive, horned visage to behold. In his left hand, he held a mace not unlike Walter's own, and in his right, he wielded a lucerne warhammer singlehanded. Walter could practically feel the man's rage, even from a hundred feet away. With little delay, he ordered his men forward. The twenty-five man knight company obeyed, and began charging across the gap with Kendal at the head. Behind him, through the gap his knights had created, poured dozens of Ecclesian heavy infantry and paladins.

"Go!" Walter cried to his own paladins, "in the name of the Lord!" With a throaty cry, his own unit charged forward, followed by the remnants of the Emissaries. The two sides met with a thunderous crash, shortly accompanied by shouts of rage and agony.

Kendal met Walter at the very front of the line, and didn't give him a single second to breath. He unleashed on Walter with a furious barrage of strikes with his mace. Walter grunted in effort and mild pain as he struggled to keep his shield in between him and Kendal's mace. The twos' duel was briefly cut off as another dueling paladin and knight blew past them, swinging away just as furiously at each other. Walter used the brief reprieve to gain distance on Kendal.

"Kendal, my old friend," Walter greeted with a strained voice.

"It is a pity that we must reunite like this, Walter," Kendal replied gravely, advancing slowly.

 _He's being…civil,_ Walter thought with a glimmer of hope. _Perhaps he will listen to reason._ "Kendal," he said slowly, "would you willingly serve a Patriarch who disobeys the Lord?"

Kendal's reaction, in hindsight, should have been predictable to Walter: he leapt forward with a furious roar and began his assault anew, this time with his hammer. "You are the one who went against the Lord's will, Walter!" he shouted, seething, as he brought down his hammer against Walter's shield over and over again.

Walter grimaced in pain as Kendal's hammer crashed repeatedly on his shield. Despite the thick shield, and his steel gauntlets, he still felt his bones scream in protest as Kendal's hammer drove into it. The hammer was slower than his mace, however, and Walter found an opening to knock the hammer aside. As he swung his shield sideways, deflecting the incoming blow, he leapt back out of Kendal's range, and spoke once again.

"The Patriarch and I were commanded to bring the Ancient Heart here, and destroy it!" Walter barked, pointing back toward the cave that led to the Altar of Nowart. "It is the Patriarch who has been corrupted by the power of that foul relic! It is _he_ who goes against the Lord's will!" Kendal froze, glancing between Walter and the cave entrance. It was as Walter thought; the Patriarch hadn't told him anything of the Oracle. All that Kendal knew of it had come from Walter's own mouth at the command post near the Altar of Destruction. Kendal had expressed back then that he felt the Patriarch was keeping something from him.

 _Patriarch Dimitri's paranoia may be my saving grace. Perhaps Kendal may see reason after all._ "Kendal," Walter pleaded desperately, "you must see the truth!"

Before Kendal could respond, however, Lance broke through the melee to Walter's right. "Captain Walter!" he shouted, panicked, "Regnier's elite troops are moving to cut us off from the Altar!"

Walter felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of that monster, and a spike of fear in his heart. If his men were cut off from the Altar by Regnier, he would never break through. He would never be able to complete his mission.

"No!" Walter cried, completely forgetting Kendal's presence in his panic. "All Emissaries, fall back to the Altar!"

000

Walter grunted as he shouldered past yet another of Regnier's Orcs, swinging his mace almost absentmindedly as he passed. The Orc fell to the ground, easing Walter's passing. The entrance to the Altar, a crudely carved tunnel, was barely wide enough for three men to stand abreast, and was currently a maelstrom of blood and carnage. Ecclesian soldiers, Regnier's elite Orc heavy infantry, and the last vestiges of the Emissaries fought bitterly for control of the narrow passage. As Walter shouldered past a dueling Ecclesian knight and one of his own paladins, he got his first glimpse of the Altar.

Though to call it an "Altar" would be a bit generous; it was little more than a weathered stone dias with a large, old stone archway that looked to fit five men abreast behind it, and a simple stone block serving as the altar in the center. The archway was filled in with stone however, perhaps a former passage into the altar?

There was no ornate decoration, no holy aura, nothing. The only illumination for the Altar itself was a hole in the ceiling of the cavern. Walter felt a sliver of hope in his mind; the end of this damned mission was at hand. Raising his shield in front of him, he charged shoulder-first through the last dueling pair obstructing his path, one of his paladins and an Orc.

He was relieved to find that three of his own men were holding the end of the tunnel to the Altar. Two of the sappers, and one of his paladins, stood by, ready to strike down any who would gain entry. As Walter ran up to them, they tensed momentarily, before realizing who he was.

"Captain," the paladin said with a salute and an anxious tone, "you must hurry. We cannot hold this passage for much longer."

Walter placed his hand on the paladin's shoulder comfortingly. "Fear not, brother," he said with a warm smile, "the will of the Oracle is almost fulfilled. The Dark Legion's last days are at hand." With that, the paladin stepped back and to the side, allowing him to pass.

Just a few dozen feet in front of him was the Altar. He could make it; his journey was almost-

"Ecclesian!" a deep voice roared from the passage behind him. He shuddered; he recognized that voice. Fearing the worst, he turned back to see the speaker, and his fears were confirmed. Regnier had personally appeared. The (surprisingly) human Lord of Hexter was rather simply dressed; he wore a leather harness on his chest, held together with an ornamental skull buckle. He wore no other clothing besides a simple cloth hood and iron mask, concealing his face, and a loincloth held up by a leather belt. His armor was similarly sparse; a pair of jagged, overlarge iron pauldrons sat atop his shoulders, and simple iron gauntlets and boots made up the rest of it. The man's face was concealed underneath the darkness of the hood and the iron half-mask that concealed his lower face, but even then, Walter could easily tell the man was enraged.

"Stop what you're doing, you fool!" he barked as his body began to glow. Within a second, the glow erupted into open flame. He raised his iron greatsword, the blade itself catching flame, before bringing it down violently. With a thunderous crack, the very earth split open before him, jets of flame racing out. Everything within the passage, both human and Orc, were incinerated immediately. The attack failed to reach the end of the passage, however; Walter and the last three men before the door were all that were left.

"Silence devil!" Walter barked in response as he backed toward the Altar. "Your foul existence ends today!"

Regnier roared as he took off down the passage with frightening speed. Walter quickly turned back around and began jogging toward the Altar. He winced as he heard the first of the guards die; a quick crunching sound, followed by an agonizing shriek. As he reached the Altar, he heard the next one die; the sound of roaring flame, and the prolonged screaming of a man burned alive. As he stepped up onto the dais, he heard the sound of rending metal and a pained grunt. Walter turned around as he reached the Altar itself, to see the limp form of the paladin impaled on the end of Regnier's sword. The Lord of Hexter casually ripped the corpse from his blade, discarding it like so much refuse, and turned to Walter, who was placing the Ancient Heart upon the Altar, his back turned to Regnier.

"Stop, you insufferable idiot!" Regnier cried, a hint of panic in his voice. "Do you have any idea what you're about to do!?"

As Walter raised his mace, he turned his head enough to see Regnier. Why wasn't he attacking? Was he afraid of destroying the Heart himself? "Bringing new life to Bersia," Walter replied with a tone of finality. Then, he brought down his mace on the Heart.

He barely registered Regnier's scream of denial as he watched the Heart shatter. Previously indestructible, the Heart broke apart like glass when it was struck on the Altar. The fist sized gem broke into dozens of particles, which seemed to break down further as Walter watched, until all that remained was a fine red dust.

Walter turned to smile smugly at Regnier, only to drop to his knee in pain; a tremendous spike of agony shot through his being, and a skull-like, ghastly visage flitted across his vision.

"No," Regnier whispered in despair, looking through the hole in the roof, before collapsing to his knees. "The Age of Light has ended."

Walter gazed at the man, confused. _Age of Light? What is he…_ as he followed Regnier's gaze, however, his heart dropped into his stomach. Something had gone very, very wrong.

Walter hadn't known what to expect when he destroyed the Ancient Heart, but the last thing he expected was for it to summon some…monstrosity. For that was surely what the colossus floating above Nowart was, some sort of monster.

"W-what is…" Walter stuttered, confused, "I-I don't…"

"Encablossa," Regnier lamented, still on his knees. "The Age of Dark has come."

"Encablossa" as Regnier had named the monstrosity, was a colossal, black entity with no discernible limbs. Its black, leathery hide was covered in enormous spikes, and what looked to be sores or pustules. Atop its vaguely cocoon-shaped body was a long neck, supporting a skull-like head, from which two gigantic horns sprung horizontally.

Walter watched in horror as a dark fog began spreading from the bottom of Encablossa. The faint signs of battle outside died down as the fog spread. Soon, it appeared as though the sun had set prematurely; it was as dark as night outside. Encablossa then began "inhaling" deeply. Walter felt the very air around him pulling upward, and soon had to grab hold of the edge of the Altar itself to avoid being sucked into the air. He watched in horror as the soldiers outside were not so lucky; thousands upon thousands of the troops outside, with no discrimination as to what side they were on, were sucked into the air. The sores on Encablossa's skin opened up, and the helpless soldiers were sucked into the colossus.

Before Walter could verbally question exactly what Encablossa was doing, he got his answer. Encablossa erupted into eerie blue flames, the fell light casting twisted shadows around Walter. Its empty eye sockets burst into flame as well, and the creature seemed to smile a sick, twisted grin. Then, the sores on its body reopened, and all hell broke loose.

Thousands of smaller monstrosities began pouring from the open sores. They were uniform in appearance; a long, almost serpentine body supported by two comically small wings and two long, misshapen arms, tipped in three sharp claws. The tail end of the body tucked underneath, almost resembling some sort of twisted wasp. The tail itself was tipped in what appeared to be a skull, surrounded by three long, sharp claws that flexed not unlike fingers. The head of the creature look similar to Encablossa's: the twisted visage of a skull, though without the horns. The creatures fluttered quickly to the ground, and Walter heard the pained, panicked cries of the remaining troops outside of the Altar as the monsters set into them.

"Walter, what have you done?" a voice cried from the entrance to the Altar. Looking back down, he beheld Kendal, staring through the skylight, clearly aghast.

"I-I don't…" Walter stammered, his mind racing. _This is not what was promised! This is not what the Oracle said!_

"He has doomed us all," Regnier growled, getting to his feet. He then turned his back on the both of them and began striding away from the Altar. "Issue a full retreat! We will need every soldier available in the coming days!" he barked back down the passage to his Orcs, before disappearing.

"Walter," Kendal said in a low, dangerous voice. "What. Have. You. Done?"

Walter couldn't answer, however. He stared, transfixed, at the eerily blazing form of Encablossa above him, mesmerized in horror at the screaming from outside. He couldn't process this. He stumbled away from the Altar and Kendall, backing slowly and numbly toward the archway, all the while trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Did they hear the Oracle wrong? No, that wasn't it. Did they find a decoy, some foul trick by the Dark Legion? Was the presence of Regnier at the Altar enough to change what the Heart's destruction was supposed to do?

His panicked theorization was cut short as he neared the archway, however. When he was within an arms length of it, the archway suddenly burst to life. The stone immediately crumbled away, replaced by a shimmering curtain of blue light. A tendril of that light reached out to Walter and seized hold of him, then began dragging him toward it. Walter tried to fight it briefly, but soon realized it was futile; its pull was far too strong. As the magic pulled him into the archway by his arm, he turned back to Kendal, who was staring at him in shock.

"I'm sorry," Walter said, his voice breaking, before he was pulled totally into the light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Arrival**

Walter felt the subtle vertigo of falling through the air, then grunted in pain as he struck the earth. He then groaned as he rolled onto his back. He smelled burning wood around him, felt earth beneath him. He was no longer at the Altar, but in a forest somewhere. A burning forest.

Walter became confused as he struggled to his feet. He was at the Altar of Nowart, when the magic in that archway seized him. Then a flash of blue, a spike of pain in his head, a brief fall, and now here he was, in the middle of a forest fire.

His blood ran cold when he heard a strangled snarling noise behind. Whipping around, he held up his mace, thanking the Lord it had been sent with him to this strange place. His eyes narrowed as he beheld the maker of the snarling noise. He clearly felt the aura of dark magic, necromancy, even from ten paces away. He could make out the pale grey, dry, mottled skin he'd come to recognize on Orc Ghouls. But this was no Orc; it was clearly once human. It wore ragged leather armor, its face hidden behind a wooden mask and iron helm, the features of which were formed in a permanent snarl. From behind the mask shined two baleful red eyes.

 _Another monstrosity of that "Encablossa" creature,_ Walter concluded as he raised his mace and took a fighting stance. Seeing his reaction, the creature (for he could not bring himself to call it a man anymore) bolted toward him with frightening speed, raising a weathered old war axe. Walter sidestepped the blow and swung his mace at the creature's back as it barreled past. He felt the familiar crunch of bone beneath his mace as the creature staggered and fell. To his shock, however, it quickly brought itself back up, and turned around snarling madly.

 _That blow could have killed an Ogre,_ he thought in panic as it rushed at him again. This time he could not move in time, and raised his shield to block. His arm screamed in protest as the axe made contact, hitting as hard as Kendal's hammer had not even an hour ago. _Such monstrous strength_. The blade of the axe skidded off of the side of the shield as Walter angled it, throwing the creature off balance. Walter took advantage of the opening, hammering relentlessly at its head and torso with his mace. With one final, resounding crunch, Walter landed a severe blow on the creature's head, caving the metal helm into its skull. It let out strangled groan, before dissolving to acrid purple smoke in front of his very eyes. The creature's axe and armor fell to the ground empty, as if they had never been occupied.

Walter had little time to contemplate exactly what had just happened, however. He heard another growl in the trees to his left, followed by a roar of challenge to his right. Throughout the woods, he heard similar roars being echoed. _I cannot fight so many at once,_ he realized, his blood turning to ice, and took off into the forest. The creatures were right behind him, he could hear them trampling through the brush in pursuit. The burning forest around him prevented him from turning to lose them, however; he had no option but to run forward, hoping he could outpace them. That was easier said than done, however; at Nowart he had been fighting for his life non-stop for over a day. Fatigue was quickly setting in.

Walter began to lose hope. He was just slowing down to come to a stop, to die fighting instead of running, when he heard shouts ahead of him. Shouts of the living. Getting a second wind, and a shimmer of hope, he sprinted forward, eventually bursting into a clearing.

In this clearing were several people. Farthest away were two mounted cavaliers, one in red armor and one in blue, harrying the periphery of the skirmish, funneling the creatures into one area. Some foppish dandy who was using a bow to surprisingly great effect was riding behind the red cavalier, his back to hers, shooting the undead creatures as the pair rode by. Two blue-haired youths, wielding similar broadswords, were at the fore of the battle, cleaving away at a veritable horde of the creatures. A brown-haired man in a black and purple cloak stood behind them, casting lightning into the crowd from afar. Behind them all, directly closest to Walter, was a young, blond haired girl that he doubted had seen sixteen winters, holding a delicate looking staff. As he watched, one of the blue haired swordsmen stepped back, clutching his shoulder in pain. The girl quickly ran forward, waving the staff over his arm and producing a bright light, undoubtedly casting healing magic. The blue haired man nodded gratefully before jumping back into the fray.

Walter started as he heard the brush behind him shift. One of his pursuers darted out of the bush. It ignored him, however, heading straight for the young healer. She wasn't watching behind her, she was completely unaware. Taking action, Walter sprinted forward with his shield raised, slamming into the creature's back as it raised its axe and knocking it to the earth with a raspy grunt. He wasted no time, raising his boot and bringing it down on the creature's face with all of his might. This time, it dissolved into smoke after that single blow.

"The enemy is behind us!" Walter shouted to the soldiers in front of him. The brown haired mage jumped in surprise and spun around, as the young girl yelped and did the same. The brown haired man squinted shrewdly at him, then the empty armor at his feet that were dangerously close to Lissa, before nodding and turning back to the others.

"Chrom, they're behind us now! Close up the ranks, form a circle around Lissa! Frederick, join us, Sully, keep harassing them!" The man turned back to Walter. "Name's Robin, I'm a tactician, mind joining the line?"

Walter didn't even have to contemplate his answer, as he heard more movement behind him. He nodded, before falling into the rough circle (more of a pentagon) that had been formed around the young healer, who Walter assumed was "Lissa". The creatures quickly surrounded them, before charging forward.

Walter lost himself to the melee. He refused to underestimate his foes, not after the first one, and struck each blow with as much strength as he could muster. The familiar crunch as bone shattered beneath his mace, the familiar resistance as he pulled his mace out when the flanges were embedded in undead flesh, the ringing of steel against steel, the roars and screams of his allies and his foes. The crack of lightning and the twang of bowstring rounded out the chorus of war, more familiar to Walter than any of the Church hymns. The five melee fighters refused to let any of them past to the vulnerable healer, as she worked her magic and kept them all fighting. Even Walter had taken a hit in a vulnerable joint in his armor, but Lissa's quick work kept him in the fight. The spell was a bit sloppy and didn't fully seal the wound, if he was being honest, but she was young yet, she hadn't had decades of war to perfect her craft.

The tide seemed endless. Even past the adrenaline rush, Walter began to feel the hints of fatigue again. Deciding enough was enough, he channeled what energy he had left into a spell.

"Kaleidoflamma!" he cried, raising his mace in the air. A fountain of flame erupted upward from the tip, before coming down around him and rushing outward akin to a tide of fire. It flowed harmlessly around his allies, but the undead creatures were not so fortunate. They let out their strangled cries as their dried flesh caught flame like so much kindling, rolling around in agony to put out the magical fire. Within seconds, the majority of the creatures dissolved into so much smoke that the few remaining could hardly be seen. Nevertheless, they were dispatched with haste by the others as Walter sunk to a knee in exhaustion.

"That's the last of them," the blue-armored knight said with a tone of finality as he kicked the tattered remains of his last foe's leather armor off of the end of his finely crafted lance.

"Thank the gods," one of the blue haired youths gasped in relief. _Gods? Polytheistic pagans,_ Walter thought disdainfully, _Hironeiden, no doubt._ He would not be picky, however. Allies were allies; his time with Rithrin had taught him that much.

The rest of the warriors gathered in close, allowing Walter to get a good look at them. The red armored cavalier was a woman, much to Walter's shock. Her hair was the same shade of red as her armor, and her face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. The blue armored cavalier was a brown-haired man with fine features, clearly of noble birth. His features were set in a slight frown himself, but not quite a scowl that the woman had. The two blue-haired swordsmen both wore fine clothing, one of them a black tunic with a silver pauldron and white cape, and the other a blue tunic and cape, with a finely crafted blue mask covering most of his face. The former's expression was both worried and relieved, while the masked swordsman's face was unreadable. The brown haired man, the tactician "Robin", wore a expertly crafted black and purple cloak with strange markings on it, over tan shirt and black pants. The young girl, Lissa, wore a fine yellow battle-dress and brown corset, her unruly blonde hair done up in pigtails. Of all of them, the blue armored knight appeared the oldest, but only by a few years at most. He doubted any of these people had seen more than twenty-five winters.

Walter forced himself to his feet as the blue-haired man began speaking. "Thank you, strangers," he said, addressing Walter and the masked swordsman. "My name is Chrom, and I thank you both on behalf of Ylisse." _A noble of some sort, from his dress and manner of speech,_ Walter concluded quickly, _but what is this "Ylisse?"_ "I would like to know your names, and would invite you to return with us to Ylisstol, so I may reward you." _Ylisstol?_

"You may call me Marth," the masked swordsman spoke up first.

"Marth?" Chrom asked, confused. "Like the Hero-King of old?" _What nonsense is this boy going on about?_ Walter wondered. "Well, you certainly fight like a hero. You saved my sister, and you have my gratitude."

"You must listen," Marth said, his voice becoming low and urgent. "I did not come here to talk about me. The world is on the brink of a terrible calamity. What you saw tonight was but a prelude. You have been warned." The man turned his gaze to Walter, head cocking slightly in confusion, before turning and striding purposefully away.

"W-what?" Lissa spoke up as Marth walked off into the forest. "The what's teetering where now?" Marth was gone, however. "Wait! I didn't even get to say thank you…"

"A man of few words, isn't he?" Robin asked wryly.

"His skills obviously lie elsewhere. I doubt that's the last we'll hear of him," the blue armored knight said, his features set in a scowl, glaring suspiciously in the direction Marth had gone.

"I agree, Frederick," Chrom stated somberly, before turning to Walter. "Thank you as well. Your warning was timely; we may very well have been taken from behind without you. What is your name?"

"Sir Walter, of Ecclesia," Walter answered. Most of the people present looked confused or surprised to hear of Ecclesia, all but the boy who spoke to him. His face was confused, but in a different way. Like he knew of Ecclesia, as all rightfully should know and fear the Holy Empire, but did not expect him. Like he shouldn't be here. What had happened after the Ancient Heart was destroyed? "Captain of the Patriarchal Emissaries," he continued. It was dangerous to offer his name and rank, being the fugitive he was. He thought that at least might clarify matters, but everyone simply looked more confused.

"What is this nonsense?" Frederick interrupted. "There is no nation called Ecclesia. Milord Chrom, I believe this man is confused or mad, perhaps he took a blow to his head?"

Walter felt a spike of fury go through him, before the first half of his statement sunk in. _No nation of Ecclesia?_ His gut went cold. _Did Encablossa destroy it? How long have I been gone?_

"Frederick," Chrom groaned, running a hand down his face, "give it a break. Your paranoia is getting ridiculous."

"I only look out for your welfare, milord," Frederick answered stiffly, but fell silent.

Chrom walked up close to Walter, and leaned in, talking low. "I believe you, friend. I know of Ecclesia." He stood back. "But we can discuss this more when we reach Ylisstol. We must warn the Exalt of these…things."

"Agreed," Robin spoke up. "If they appeared here, they could have appeared elsewhere."

"Shepherds, to Ylisstol!" Chrom called out. The soldiers around Walter began walking with purpose out of the clearing. Chrom, however, stayed back with Walter, who hadn't moved, confused and unwilling to blindly trust relative strangers. Especially when none of them had heard of the most powerful nation in Bersia.

"You're a long way from home, friend," Chrom stated softly. "A very long way. Come with us, we might be able to get you home."

"What do you know?" Walter asked quietly as they began following the others.

"More than most," Chrom replied. "The Royal Archives in Ylisstol hold many secrets. Come with us, I can explain more there."

Walter hesitated. Something was very wrong here, nothing made sense. Ecclesia apparently didn't exist, the sky wasn't blackened from Encablossa's magic, he realized as the sun began to rise, and they had mentioned this "Ylisse" place that he had never heard of, despite his thorough education in geography. But he wouldn't find out why nothing made sense if he just stood in the woods, would he? Slowly, he nodded, and followed Chrom out of the clearing,

 **Author's Note. Warning: belligerence and profanity ahead.**

 **Hello. Meant to add this in the first chapter, but hey, if I wasn't forgetful, I wouldn't be me.**

 **Short version of why I'm writing this: I wrote this story as a favor to a friend. We both enjoy both of the series present in this story, nobody apparently ever posted a crossover between them, I owed him a favor, he cashed it in (albeit in a rather strange fashion, I was expecting more along the lines of "help me bury a body" or something) and he's liked what I've done so far. For some reason. I don't fucking know why, I literally bs'd my way through this. He liked it so much, in fact, that he bullied me into posting it on here. I don't know why he doesn't post it on his own account, IP is a fucking joke to me and idgaf if he "steals" my story, I mean if he did, and tried to cash in on it somehow, then when the pressure for more content builds up it would destroy him when he can't deliver (and he can't write for shit, and yes, I know you're probably reading this you fucker, tell me I'm wrong). I don't know why he was so insistent on me going through all the fucking rigmarole involved in making an account and posting a story. God, I hate that prick sometimes. I swear he does it just to spite me. Sorry, I'll be less profane now.**

 **I tell you this because, well, I'm not entirely sure I** _ **want**_ **to post this, I'm doing it to shut him the…French… up lol. I don't typically write at all, and when I do it's historical non-fiction. I do read fanfiction sometimes, but writing it isn't my first choice of activity. So, bear with me. If you review, I'll try my hardest to be polite if you review or directly message me, but politeness isn't exactly my forte, so try not to take anything that's less-than-socially-acceptable personally.**

 **In other news, I've completed the first arc of the story before posting. Why? Partly because my friend would clearly not stop nagging me until I posted SOMETHING, and I'm tired of my texts blowing up from the [wonderful human being]. But the main reason is that one thing I hate on this site (and every other fanfiction site) is waiting MONTHS for a single m************ chapter. I typically don't even open a story without a "complete" tag on it, I only do so if I'm feeling masochistic or it's recommended to me. So yeah, there's at least a semi-complete story here that will give you some sense of satisfaction when you reach that "Chapter 38 of 38" mark, there aren't going to be massive f****** cliffhangers that you have to endure every week/month for [however long it takes me to finish this].**

 **Good news for you, lovely reader, is that I won't be posting AN's very much, and if I do, they'll likely be a hell of a lot more brief than this. So my belligerence will be infrequent, unless you're daft enough to approach me directly.**

 **Oh, and if you do approach me directly despite that warning, do me a favor and bring me a title that's not fucking stupid. I picked this one as a pun when I went to post the damn story, I never had a name for it while writing it. Kthxbai**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **Ylisstol**

The trip back to Ylisstol was rather quiet for Walter. His few attempts to pry information from Chrom were met with requests for patience and glares from his bodyguard, Frederick. That's not to say that the others were quiet, however. Robin was chatting amicably with Lissa in the center of the group. The red armored knight, Sully he had learned her name was, was taking up the rear with her horse, gritting her teeth in mounting anger. The foppish archer, Virion, had been attempting to "woo" her with increasingly flowery language. Walter secretly hoped she would lose her patience and impale the man; he had no patience for philanderers or dandies. Alas, Sully's self-control appeared to be made of sterner stuff than his own, and she settled for cursing in a most unladylike manner at him. The man had tried to "woo" Lissa, but an "accidental" swing of Frederick's lance perilously close to the man's neck had dissuaded him from further attempts.

Walter walked just behind Chrom and Frederick at the head of the column, brooding. He recognized none of this terrain. He could see mountains to the east, where there should be none. All of the mountains in Bersia were in the north and the southeast. Brimstone Forest took up most of the northeast of Bersia, yet despite the small forest he had appeared in, all he could see were gently rolling plains in every direction. To the north should have been the treacherous Pineth Mountains, visible throughout Ecclesia and Hironeiden, with Mount Levantz towering far above any other, but he could see nothing. Not even the very tip of a mountain peak. He did, however, see a vast mountain range to the west, where there should have been the impassable Great Sea. Nothing was making sense. Even what little he knew of Vellond's geography didn't match this place, and it certainly wasn't the inhospitable swamps, sparse woodlands, and treacherous deserts of Hexter. Perhaps he had been the first Bersian to (inadvertently) cross the Great Sea? Yes, that was the most likely explanation.

They crested the small hill they were climbing, and Walter was taken aback. Before him was a large, walled city, which he assumed was Ylisstol. It sat atop a rather large hill, with farmland surrounding it for miles. A large lake sat to the north of the city, a wide, deep river filled with clear water flowing southwest of the city. A small mountain range was visible far beyond the city, but even still Walter knew that they didn't match any map in Bersia. Even from miles away as they were, Walter could see thousands of people working the fields and walking along the roads.

Ylisstol didn't compare to the glory and beauty of Ecclesia's self-named capital in Walter's opinion, but it was certainly a beautiful sight in its own right.

"There is no sign of the creatures here, milord," Frederick stated. "It appears the capital was spared the calamity in the forest."

"Sully, take Virion and ride ahead," Chrom spoke up, as he pulled a simple black cloak over his shoulders and head. "Deliver our report to Captain Phila, then return to the barracks for some rest." Sully gave a salute, right hand curled in a fist to her chest, before reluctantly allowing Virion to climb behind her and setting off. Walter could hear her smack Virion as he tried to snake his arms around her, and chuckled.

The rest of them set off at a slower pace, due to their fatigue from fighting during the night and then marching non-stop for hours. Walter was no stranger to the exhaustion, and neither were Chrom and Frederick from the looks of it, but Robin and Lissa were practically dead on their feet.

Around midday they finally arrived at the city. Curiously, Chrom directed the party away from the main southern gate, and chose instead to enter a lesser gate on the east side of the city. Walter was suspicious at this point. Why would he go through so much effort to go unnoticed? He had noticed a while back that Lissa had likewise concealed herself beneath a simple tan cloak. Frederick had not covered up his armor, however, and Robin appeared to have no other clothing on him besides his rather distinctive robes. Walter figured they must look more like a patrol returning with a trio of criminals than they did a procession of nobility. Which is what had Walter confused; was Chrom a banished or otherwise shamed noble?

They passed silently through the gates, and began winding their way through the crowd. They had entered in what Walter guessed was the slum of the city, but he was surprised at how well kept the place was. It was nothing like the slums of Ecclesia, where the streets were covered in filth, the buildings looked ready to fall apart, and the poor and destitute stewed in their own filth. No, the slums of Ylisstol more accurately represented the middle class area of Ecclesia, just a bit…dingier. The buildings were clearly old and battered, but not in outright states of disrepair. The streets were relatively clean, all things considered, and the poor moved about with a sense of purpose, rather than begging or robbing others.

"So, this is Ylisstol, hmm?" Robin mused behind Walter, causing most of the group to turn around. "It's rather nice. I mean, I'm guessing these are the slums, but they don't look very…slum-like."

Chrom chuckled at Robin's eloquent summary. "The Exalt, Emmeryn, does her best to ensure that her people do not go without. She can't provide for everyone, of course, but she does whatever she can."

"Lady Emmeryn and Ylisstol symbolize all of Ylisse's positive attributes," Frederick declared proudly. "The Exalt is an idol of peace, prosperity, and love for her country."

"She sounds like an ideal ruler," Robin concluded.

"She's also the best big sister anyone could ask for," Lissa added cheerily.

Walter started. So, Chrom and Lissa were brother and sister to this Exalt? This explained why they wished to avoid notice. Apart from the publicity a public entrance to this capital would elicit, it would also make them targets for assassination. Walter simply nodded and accepted this information. He had never met a female ruler outside of the Elf Queen, Snowstone, but he was becoming accustomed to the strangeness of this land.

Robin, however, was a lot less composed upon finding this out. "S-sister?" he stuttered out, panicking. "But that would make you and Chrom…"

"The Prince and Princess of the realm, yes," Frederick finished for him dryly. "You mean that you remembered milord's name, but not his station?"

Walter chuckled to himself as Robin threw himself prostrate at Chrom's feet, begging for forgiveness for his "dreadful manners" while stumbling over his own words. Chrom, for his part, just laughed and pulled the poor tactician to his feet.

"It's just Chrom, Robin," Chrom said easily, patting the man on the shoulder. "I've never been one for formalities."

"Prince and Princess of the realm…" Robin muttered. "I guess that explains why Frederick tolerates all the teasing."

Frederick gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, the sacrifices I make for the good of the realm…"

Sniggering at Frederick, the group continued making their way through the city. They eventually passed into the crowded merchant's quarter, where street vendors and local farmers traded and bartered and bought, their gold and goods the blood that kept the nation alive. After that, they passed into a residential area, which was mostly absent, as all of the families were likely working or buying goods back in the merchant's quarter. A couple different groups of children ran by, but no adults to speak of. From there, they passed through the well kept aristocratic quarter, home to Ylisstol's nobility and otherwise important individuals. Walter felt a hint of trepidation; he had never been one for his fellow nobles. Too much squabbling and greed, too little attending their responsibility of leading and tending to the people responsible for giving them their life of luxury. They eventually came upon the gate to the palace; the well-kept walls were manned by dozens of guards in blue tunics and boiled leather armor, carrying high quality iron and steel lances. The guards outside the gate seemed to recognize Chrom and Lissa on sight, and called for the gates to open. The guards then saluted as the prince and princess walked by; only dropping their salutes once the entire procession had passed.

Walter nodded in approval of the castle grounds as Frederick dismounted and a blue-garbed servant led the horse away. The grounds were quite lovely, with well kept grass and neatly trimmed shrubbery, and well-maintained cobblestone paths leading parallel to the curved walls on both sides, but not covered in the ostentatious and gaudy décor that Walter had become so distasteful of at the Holy See of Ecclesia or the Hironeiden Palace. He caught sight of Sully, trotting on her horse through a small gate at the far end of the yard, the gate closing behind her before he could see what was on the other side. The fop was nowhere to be found, for which Walter was very thankful. Very shortly they were lead up the front steps to the palace, and a pair of great doors, well more than three times his own height, were opened for them to enter.

"Welcome to Castle Ylisse," Chrom stated warmly, "my home." Like the outside, the main hall of the palace was quite beautiful, but not obnoxiously so. A beautiful blue carpet ran down the center of the palace, kept immaculately clean. The hall was several times taller than even the doors, almost four stories in height, held up by ten great marble columns, from which hung what Walter concluded was the standard of Ylisse: A simple blue field, with the same mark that was branded on Chrom's shoulder placed in the center, in white. The floors were marble, just like the columns, and so clean Walter didn't doubt he could eat from them. Two columns of guards were present, one in front of each pillar, and they all saluted as Chrom entered the palace.

At the end of the hall were two figures, speaking quietly. The first was a woman a few years younger than Walter, with stark silver hair tied up in a simple, functional bun, russet colored eyes, and the fine features that indicated being of noble birth _. She is quite beautiful,_ Walter thought absently. A black beauty mark adorned her cheek, and Walter noticed she stood rather bow-legged. _An experienced cavalier, no doubt,_ Walter concluded. _She is likely more dangerous than all of the guards here combined, from the look of her._

The second was a young woman, a few years older than Chrom, which Walter realized must be the Exalt. She was a gorgeous young woman with a serene smile on her face, wearing an ornate set of crème and beige robes, a golden halo-like ornament affixed to the back of her hair. In the center of her forehead sat the same mark that was on Chrom's shoulder and the standards all around him. A family crest, he realized, but did they really have to brand all of their children? It seemed a little…barbaric.

"Sister!" Chrom shouted warmly once they were a few paces away. Lissa opted to simply run ahead of them and hug her older sister, which was returned lovingly.

"Chrom, Lissa, I'm so relieved to see that you are safe," the Exalt said in a voice as serene as her smile. "I was worried about both of you."

"No need for that, with the friends we found on the road," Chrom replied.

"I assume you speak of your new companions?" She asked curiously, turning to look at Walter and Robin appraisingly. Walter immediately felt a spike of self consciousness and spared a brief look down; his armor and tunic were still bloodstained, burnt, and battered from his battle at the Altar of Nowart and the skirmish in the forest. A quick glance to Robin, and he was no better, his hair and cloak matted with dirt and battle-grime. He shook his head; there was little to be done about it now.

"Come, tell me your names," she prompted warmly.

"Uh, hi, I'm Robin," the young tactician began sheepishly. _Doesn't even have the wherewithal to bow,_ Walter thought disdainfully. As if he had read Walter's mind, Robin suddenly bowed deep and low. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Excellence." _Better late than never, I suppose,_ Walter thought with amusement as Lissa and Chrom stifled their laughter. Frederick and the older woman both glared at Robin.

The Exalt smiled,then turned to Walter, who sunk to one knee and placed his armored fist over his heart; a salute only to be rendered to royalty. "I am Sir Walter," he began, "Captain of the Patriarchal Emissaries, and knight of Ecclesia." He looked up to see the Exalt giving him the same confused stare that Chrom had given him in the woods. _What do these two know?_ Walter found himself wondering.

"Ecclesia?" The older woman finally spoke up, her tone skeptical. "What nonsense is this? Impersonating nobility is a severe offense, 'Sir' Walter." Walter leveled a glare in her direction. The woman returned it in kind.

"Peace, Captain Phila," the Exalt said, gently placing her hand on the other woman's arm. "I know of what he speaks." She turned back to Walter, her gaze still confused. "We will have to discuss such matters later, I'm afraid." She then turned to her brother. "Lord Virion and Lady Sully delivered your report as you requested, Chrom, but I wish to hear it from your own lips. Please, tell me what happened."

Chrom nodded and began his tale. They had been hunting bandits, and lost their trail in the woods, when they had happened upon Robin in the middle of a field. Walter was surprised to learn that the man had no memory before waking up. It had apparently taken him several minutes to even recall his own name. From there, they had found the bandits attacking a nearby town, where they routed them. Due in no small part, apparently, to Robin's skill in combat and tactical proficiency. Chrom then continued on to the part where Walter came in; a magic portal had opened in the sky, spewing forth the undead creatures that Walter had first come in contact with. Walter could only assume that that same portal brought him here, and would explain his brief fall through the air. From there, Sully, Virion, and finally Walter had joined them. Walter noticed that Chrom neglected to mention the swordsman, Marth, but Walter chose to say nothing about it.

"I see…" the Exalt said contemplatively after Chrom had finished.

"Sister, I would like to make Robin the official tactician of the Shepherds," Chrom stated. Robin let out some kind of a strangled squawk in surprise. "I would also like to extend an invitation for Sir Walter to join us as well." Walter was taken aback at that. He was flattered, of course, but could not accept. He needed to return to Ecclesia at once, to find out what had happened after he had destroyed the Ancient Heart.

"Your Grace, I feel I must speak up," Frederick interrupted. "Robin's story is simply that: a story. He could be a Plegian spy. He wears the robes of the Grimleal, after all. And Sir Walter's story is even more nonsensical. Not even in Jugdral is there a nation called Ecclesia, and that is on the opposite end of the world. They cannot be so easily trusted." Walter bristled at Frederick's seeming hostility, but was once again brought to a halt by the implication that Ecclesia simply did not exist. Robin muttered to himself in confusion, wondering what Frederick had meant by "Grimleal".

"Frederick…"Chrom began angrily, but the Exalt held up her hand. Chrom fell silent.

"Do you truly believe they cannot be trusted, Sir Frederick?" She asked.

"Not quite so quickly or easily, Your Grace," Frederick replied without hesitation. "The risk is simply too great."

Exalt Emmeryn nodded, and Walter's stomach dropped. She then turned to Chrom. "Do these men have your trust, Chrom?"

"Completely," Chrom replied without a second's hesitation. "They have both risked their lives for Ylisse and its people. My heart tells me that that is enough."

"And what of your mind, milord?" Frederick spoke up. "Will you not heed its counsel as well?"

Chrom whirled on Frederick angrily, but once again the Exalt stopped him with a raised hand. "If you wish for these men to join you Chrom, then you have my blessing." She then turned to Frederick, whose face was stoic, though he radiated an aura of disappointment. "But thank you, Sir Frederick, for your vigilance. My siblings are blessed to have so tireless a guardian. Surely they remember to thank you?"

Frederick adopted a small smirk. "They do occasionally express something akin to gratitude, Your Grace."

Exalt Emmeryn nodded before turning back to Chrom. "Your sighting of these creatures was not the only one, brother," she said gravely. "They have appeared sporadically across the country. Our scouts on the Feroxi border spotted several groups there as well, so I can only assume they have appeared throughout Regna Ferox as well. I ordered General Thorne to call the Council to decide the best way to deal with these creatures." Walter noticed Chrom grimace at the name "General Thorne", and assumed that the two didn't get along very well.

"Well, that's great and all, and I'd love to go," Lissa interrupted loudly, seizing Walter and Robin by the wrists, "but these two need someone to show them to the Shepherds barracks, don't they? We would be terrible hosts to let them wander blindly; I think I'll show them there personally."

Chrom and the Exalt chuckled, before Emmeryn spoke up. "Yes, I suppose you are right, Lissa. Please, show them to the barracks. Take your time; you want to make sure that they don't get lost along the way, after all."

Lissa's face brightened up, and she shouted quick thanks backwards as she dragged the two hapless men away, with her siblings laughing and the two knights frowning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Shepherds**

Walter walked next to Lissa and Robin in silence as the young woman led them back through the main doors while chatting with Robin. Walter's head was bowed in thought. The Exalt and Chrom knew _something_ , he was certain, but he would have to wait until they had free time for him to learn what they knew. _Free time, for a royal family?_ Walter asked himself mockingly. He then continued contemplating his situation. How had he come to be here? How would he get home? Where even was "here"? So many questions, but no answers.

Lissa brought them to the side gate he had seen Sully go through when they arrived, and the guards manning the opening mechanism triggered it when they neared the gate. Lissa shouted thanks upward to them, before ushering her two guests through.

The area beyond the gate matched just about every other barracks Walter had seen. The area was a large yard; the grass long since trampled and compacted into hard earth by steel-booted feet. Various archery targets and training dummies dotted the yard, and there was a sparring circle in the center. He saw Sully on the far end of the yard, hacking away viciously at a training dummy with such force that wooden chips were flying off of it, despite her only using a dulled practice sword. She looked away briefly when she heard the gate open, gave a brief, friendly wave, and then returned to mauling the poor dummy. At the far end of the yard sat a trio of buildings. One was obviously a stable, in which three horses were kept. Walter recognized two of them as Frederick and Sully's mounts, but the third was unknown to him, a well-groomed white horse with a exquisite, pink-painted leather saddle. The second building was obviously the barracks, a squat, wide, two story stone building with a simple wooden placard over the door, bearing the word "Shepherds". The third was a simple wooden building, with the mark of the Exalted family carved into the wood above the door. Walter could not guess the purpose of it.

Lissa led them towards the barracks, pointing out the various features of the yard to Robin and himself. He already knew what they were, of course, but the look of interest on Robin's face indicated he'd never visited a formal barracks. _Of course, if he did, he wouldn't remember,_ Walter thought to himself, reminded of the tactician's amnesia. They reached the barracks shortly, and Lissa gave the door a very un-princess-like kick to open it. The barracks were modest. The room they entered was the common area, a long table taking up the center, with several smaller round tables scattered about. There was another door on the far end of the room, in which Walter could see a stove and several dishes. _The kitchen, then,_ Walter concluded. To his right was another door, open and displaying several racks with iron and wooden practice weapons.

Inside of the barracks were four people. The first was a dirty-blonde haired man with tan skin, wearing a leather chest harness and pauldron on his left shoulder, brown sack cloth pants, worn out leather boots, and nothing else. An iron battleaxe was sheathed on his back, and he was gesturing animatedly to two of the other people. The second was a young, chestnut haired woman wearing pink-painted armor similar to Captain Phila's, and standing similarly bowlegged. Another cavalier, no doubt, the white horse likely belonged to her. The third person was a young, pale-skinned woman of clearly noble birth, wearing fine pink riding clothes and carrying a matching parasol. _Perhaps the horse is hers, then?_ Walter wondered. _Then where is the cavalier's mount?_ The fourth was Virion, sitting at a table with a fine book in his hands, a cup of strong-smelling tea in his off hand. He gave a brief glance upward when Lissa kicked the door open, rolled his eyes, and gave a respectful nod before returning to his book.

The other three, however, ceased their conversation and turned to face the door. The young noblewoman immediately ran over to Lissa and gave her a tight hug, which Lissa returned with a roll of her eyes.

"Lissa, my treasure," the noblewoman said with relief, "I'm so glad to see you unharmed."

"Relax, Maribelle, I'm fine," Lissa said exasperatedly as they separated, a wide grin on her face.

"'I'm fine', she says," Maribelle scoffed, before pointing at her head. "I've sprouted fourteen grey hairs fretting over you, and this is the thanks I get!?"

"Uh, pardon me, Princess," the cavalier asked shyly, "but when might we see the Captain?"

Maribelle's features twisted into a vicious grin. "Sumia's been ever-so-worried about our Prince; she kept staring toward the horizon all morning. She would have earned fewer bruises in training if she was blindfolded."

"O-of course I'm worried!" Sumia shouted shrilly, defensively. "I mean, h-he's our Captain, and the Prince, and I need- I mean, we need…" she trailed off uncomfortably, prompting Walter to roll his eyes. _Lovestruck children,_ Walter mused, chuckling mentally.

"Yeah Squirt," the axe-wielder asked loudly, sparing Sumia further embarrassment, "where's your bro? Ol' Teach's got a lesson for him!"

"Oh, it's 'Teach' now, is it Vaike?" Lissa asked, smirking. "I thought you had to be born lacking wits, I didn't realize it could be taught." Robin snorted in laughter at that.

"Never doubt the Vaike!" Vaike replied proudly, seemingly oblivious to the insult. "So, who're the strangers?" he said, pointing to Robin and Walter.

"No one's stranger than you, Vaike," Lissa snorted, before holding out her arms in Walter and Robin's direction, as if she was showing them off. "I present Robin and Sir Walter, our two newest recruits! Robin's our new tactician; you should see all the tricks he has up his sleeve. And Sir Walter's a really strong warrior, and he even knows magic too!" Walter didn't bother replying to her assumption that he accepted the position. He would be gone soon enough, she would find out.

"Oh yeah?" Vaike asked, his voice turning into a challenging tone. "They might be talented, but can they do THIS?" He then let loose an extremely loud belch, one which Walter was sure shook the glass in the windows. Virion muttered "vulgar" from his seat at the table, before going back to his book. Sumia, Robin, and Lissa just laughed. Walter snorted dismissively.

"I'm afraid I've much to learn in the belching arts, O Teach," Robin said, still laughing, while giving an overly dramatic bow.

"Vaike!" Maribelle snapped, before thwacking him with her parasol. "That was abhorrent! Must you baseborn oafs pollute even the air with your buffoonery!?" Walter frowned. _Typical highborn arrogance,_ he thought, his opinion of her plummeting. "And you!" she continued, rounding on Robin. "Don't encourage him! I thought you may have been cut from a finer cloth." Walter's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. Maribelle then turned to Walter, and he braced himself. "Sir Walter, was it?" she asked pleasantly, her entire demeanor shifting instantaneously, a skill seemingly inherent to all of noble blood. She curtseyed and held out her hand. "My pleasure. Don't mind my baseborn companions. You know how the lower classes get."

Walter kept his arms crossed and glared at her disdainfully. "I do, and I also know how the highborn can be."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as Maribelle withdrew her hand. Her smile didn't meet her eyes anymore. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"One of the most honorable men I knew, a general and veteran of many battles, was a lowborn war orphan," Walter explained, "and I have spent much of my life in the company of lowborn soldiers. The lower classes have many flaws, to be sure, but the highborn have just as many. At the very least, I can talk to a commoner without worrying what political advances or social advantages they can pry from me, about whether or not they believe having me assassinated would be more beneficial to them than leaving me alive," he finished pointedly.

"Perhaps you are correct," Maribelle responded coldly, her smile completely disappearing. "Perhaps it would be best if I took my leave and pondered that for a while." With that, she whipped around and stormed out of the barracks, closing the door behind her harder than it needed to be.

After a few seconds of silence, the others broke out into laughter. Walter spared a slight, almost sheepish smile.

"Man, it's good to see Maribelle get it stuck to her for a change," Vaike spoke up first, still holding his sides.

"Hear hear," Virion piped up from his table. "She can be rather…prickly."

"Don't mind Maribelle," Sumia said, patting Walter gently on the shoulder. "She warms up to people slowly."

"Or burns too quickly," Lissa corrected, still snorting with laughter. "I better go check on her. Play nice, guys!" With that, she followed her friend outside.

"Come, friends," Virion stated from his table, "come sit with me, rest your weary limbs. Sumia, would you be a dear and brew more tea for our battle-weary friends?" Sumia gave a bright smile and a nod, before running into the kitchen.

Robin went to sit down, and Vaike followed, plopping himself down with enough force to make the chair creak ominously, but Walter remained standing. "I am afraid I must decline," he said regretfully. His faith came first, and since he was not marching to battle, the rites of his faith must be observed. "I have need of a place to do my daily prayers. Do you know of a church or temple in which I might conduct them?"

"Ah, a man of faith, I see," Virion stated with a knowing smile. "The building next door is our temple to Naga, the Divine Dragon."

 _Another place in need of the Word of God,_ Walter thought sadly. Even so, the Church said that prayers must be conducted in holy places when possible, and though this temple was dedicated to another god, it qualified as holy for his purposes. "Very well," Walter said, giving a short, grateful bow, "thank you kindly." He then exited the barracks, before turning and walking to the temple.

He entered the building and nodded approvingly. Much like the rest of the castle grounds, the temple was well kept and nicely decorated, but not ostentatious. If there was one thing he detested, it was the gaudy decorations that decorated the First Ecclesian Church in the capital. But, his disagreements with the Clergy about their usage of tithes were irrelevant, he supposed. He strolled down the aisle, decorated by a simple green carpet, and kneeled before the modest altar. On top of the altar was a small dragon figurine made of pure emerald. A curious idol, to Walter's eye; most of the dragons of Bersia were long since slain by mortal kind, and thus not really revered enough to be worshipped. What few dragons had survived had nothing to do with humans, and only one human in history, Keither, had ever bothered to track them down himself.

Walter began his prayers: the Prayer of the Faithful, appealing to the Lord for the forgiveness of sins. The Prayer of the Clergy, to be made by the Clergy of the Church, appealing to the Lord for strength in one's efforts to spread the faith and help others keep theirs in trying times. The Prayer of the Warrior, to be made by those of the Order of Paladins, praying for the Lord's protection and blessing in battle, and for mercy on the souls of their opponents…what opponents they had that could be shown that mercy, anyway. So many races had been declared anathema, however, that Walter sometimes doubted whether there was any purpose in that part of the prayer. After that came several innocuous rites that were to be practiced by the clergy or the Paladins, and his daily worship was complete.

Despite his prayers being complete, Walter opted to stay in the temple. He shifted his stance to sit cross-legged, and began to meditate. It was a practice that he began upon suggestion by his adjutant Lance, and it had brought him comfort after…everything he'd done. He slowly cleared his mind, and focused on the nothing that took its place. As he floated in that state of semi-consciousness, he felt his body relax for the first time in what felt like ages.

Walter had lost track of time before the door to the temple creaked open, breaking his concentration. Turning his head, he saw Chrom standing in the doorway, the light of sunset behind his back. He stood up, brushing some dust off of his tunic (a futile practice, given that it was still stained in blood and grime), and turned to face the young prince.

"Prince Chrom," he greeted, bowing slightly. "What can I do for you?"

"I didn't initially take you as a man of faith," Chrom stated, strolling up to stand next to Walter, facing the statue of the dragon, "or at least, not our faith."

"You would be correct," Walter replied, turning to face the statue of the dragon with him. "I worship another God, the one true God. However, my own faith dictates that my daily prayers must be conducted in holy places whenever possible."

"I see," Chrom said thoughtfully. "We're departing in one week for Regna Ferox, the country neighboring us to the north, once the other two Shepherds return." Walter said nothing; once again the name meant nothing to him. "Emm and the Council decided that to avoid a draft, we would appeal to the Khans of Ferox for military aid. They're a country of warriors. We need every warrior we can get, with the threat of those creatures, which the Council has named 'Risen', and the Plegians trying to provoke war at every step."

"I cannot stay," Walter replied, seeing the Prince's hidden request. "Ecclesia was in terrible danger before I appeared here, and I must return, to do what I can to save it."

"I actually wished to speak to you about that," Chrom stated. "My sister and I both. Please, follow me." The two then turned and left the temple. Chrom guided Walter back into the palace, up two flights of stairs, down winding hallways, until they reached a set of doors.

"This is the Royal Ylissean Library," Chrom stated as he opened the door. Much like the Ecclesian Archives, Walter was greeted by shelf upon shelf of various books, all well kept and orderly. "It is open to anyone, though most of the regular users are nobles and mages. However," he continued leading Walter past the books to the opposite end of the library, "some knowledge, the dangerous kind, is kept hidden." He reached up and pulled on a candlestick mounted to the wall. It tilted forward, and a section of the stone wall receded and pulled to the side, revealing a narrow hallway. At the end of it was a golden door, with the Brand of the Exalt carved elegantly into the center. Walter followed Chrom down this hallway, where the young Prince placed his hand on a recess in the door. The door flashed white, and opened to reveal a smaller section of the library, a single table in the center.

"This is the Royal Archives of Ylisse," Chrom stated, ushering Walter in. The door closed behind them. "And you're now one of the few who is not of the Exalted Line who has seen it."

"I am honored," Walter replied humbly.

"Like all of my family, I studied many of the texts here," Chrom said as he walked over to one of the shelves and pulled out a scroll. "Some of these texts describe people and places in entirely separate worlds."

Walter caught the implication immediately. "You're saying that I'm from another world?" he asked breathlessly.

Their conversation was interrupted as the door opened behind them. In strode Exalt Emmeryn, alone. She gave Walter a gentle smile as she walked and stood beside her brother.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," Chrom finally replied, before setting the scroll down on the table and carefully unfurling it. "Look at this map, and tell me if this is where you're from."

Walter nearly bowled Chrom out of the way in his excitement to see the map. It was incredibly old parchment, Walter noted. He resolved to be careful with it. Yes, there it was, Bersia! _Wait…_ Walter thought, his brow furrowing as he studied the border lines drawn onto the map. Everything was wrong. Hironeiden was smaller than that. Azilla, Colonock, and many other smaller territories weren't annexed into Ecclesia. Ecclesia itself was far smaller than he knew it was, made primarily of the capital and several surrounding cities, as opposed to spanning a quarter of the continent. He realized what was wrong.

"This map is wrong," Walter concluded. "Well, not so much wrong, but out of date." He pointed out the smaller territories that he knew now belonged to Ecclesia. "These territories were annexed by Ecclesia almost fifty years ago," he stated, "and this section of Hironeiden, named Kallishire, is now Ecclesian territory as well, with Jungsburg functioning as a small independent border state." He studied the rest of the map now. "This territory here," he said, pointing to the spot, "is split into two now. The Orcs control the southwestern portion, named Hexter, and the Dark Elves control the northeast, named Vellond." He looked up to the Exalt and Prince. "Where did you get this map?"

"You said fifty years?" Emmeryn clarified. Walter nodded. "That is strange."

"Why?" Walter asked hesitantly.

"This map was given to our ancestor, the Hero-King Marth, by a man named Richard almost three thousand years ago," Emmeryn stated gravely.

The color drained from Walter's face as that information settled in. "Three thousand years?" Walter replied hoarsely.

"Yes. Three men from your world, Richard, Keither, and Curian, aided our ancestor Marth in his struggle to slay Medeus," Emmeryn explained. "That occurred over three thousand years ago."

Walter stared blankly at the map. "I know of them. Curian was the king of Azilla, before he disappeared during the Second War of Heroes. Keither was a knight who commanded the might of dragons, and friend to Curian. He also disappeared during that war." He frowned further. "But the third, Richard, could only be Richard Miner, a powerful warrior from the first War of Heroes a century before. He was revived by the magic of the Ancient Heart, an artifact of the Devil. He disappeared between the two wars, only to surface again in the Second War as Rick Blood, the Immortal Warrior, and Emperor of the Dark Legion. He disappeared along with Curian and Keither during the Second War of Heroes and none have been seen since," Walter finished.

"What caused them to disappear?" Emmeryn asked. "They offered little written information about how they arrived in old Archanea, which would be modern Ylisse."

"I do not know," Walter replied, still staring at the map. "Nobody does. There was a battle in what is now Hexter, at a place called the Altar of Destruction. Some great magical event took place there, it is rumored that God himself appeared to end the war. But what few survivors there were would not speak of it, only saying that the strongest warriors of Bersia disappeared and that the war was over."

Chrom and Emmeryn were quiet. Walter's mind was reeling. The Heroes were sent to other worlds, but the timelines made no sense. What had happened? What was happening now? When he returned to Bersia, would he be another three thousand years in the future? Or would he "merely" jump half a century or more? Magic, as always, worked in mysterious ways.

"Do you know how they arrived?" Walter asked desperately. "Where they arrived?"

Chrom pulled another map from a shelf and placed it on the table. "This is a map of Ylisse," Chrom stated, pointing to one point on the map. "The continent and country both. This is Ylisse, this is Plegia, and this is Regna Ferox," he explained, pointing at each in turn. He then pointed to a small island about a mile south of the mainland. "Richard, Keither, and Curian claimed to have arrived here, at Outrealm Island. Where the name came from, I do not know. The only thing present on this island is an old, empty archway, if the rumors are true."

Walter remembered the archway that had been at Nowart. "An archway?" he asked excitedly. "It must be a gate to my world! I was pulled through an archway to arrive here, that must be it!"

"Maybe," Chrom said hesitantly, "but we can't get to it. It is surrounded by treacherous rocks and riptides, not even the most expert sailors can get within half a mile of the island."

"I must try, Walter said with conviction. "Every day I tarry here is another day Bersia suffers."

"What happened?" Emmeryn asked curiously. "What danger is your home in?"

Walter sighed guiltily. "It was my fault," he started painfully. "Patriarch Dimitri, the ruler of Ecclesia, and I received an Oracle from the Lord, imploring us to destroy the Ancient Heart and bring new life to the world. After many months of war, we retrieved the Heart from its resting place at the Altar of Destruction." He looked down. "I took the Heart to the Altar of Nowart, the only place it might be destroyed, and I destroyed it..." he trailed off, the memory of what happened still fresh in his mind. "But it all went wrong. Instead of purging the Dark Legion from Bersia as was promised, it summoned some devilish monstrosity, that one agent of the Dark Legion called 'Encablossa'. It was destroying every army at the Altar when I was pulled through an archway by some strange magic." He looked back up. "I must return to Bersia, to seal that monster away, to correct my mistake."

Emmeryn and Chrom exchanged unreadable looks, before turning back to Walter. Chrom spoke up first. "There's another island, here," Chrom said, pointing to another small island a few miles away, "Called the Farfort. It was once a military outpost, but has long since been a small farming community. Mostly pig farms, from what I hear. We've received word of bandit activity nearby, and it's a three day's journey from here to that island going through the forest." He started rolling up the maps, and placed them back on their shelves. "I'm going to take the Shepherds down to the Farfort to get rid of these bandits. If you would join us, we can scout Outrealm Island on the way back, and try to find you a ship captain that will attempt to bring you to the island."

Walter barely had to think about it. "I accept. When do we depart?"

Chrom chuckled."Eager, I see. We'll be leaving first thing in the morning. The rest of the Shepherds already know, though they don't know about our new detour on the way back."

"Be warned, Sir Walter," Emmeryn said lowly, "this voyage you're seeking is incredibly dangerous. You may not find a captain who will agree to take you, as the voyage is so treacherous. Even if you do, that archway has stood for thousands of years, yet not once has anyone been seen exiting it."

"Then I will take a rowboat to this 'Outrealm Island' if I must, Your Grace," Walter responded. "And I will force that archway to activate if I have to. I have no other option. My home burns, and I will not stand idly by."

"I understand," Emmeryn replied softly, stepping past him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "I simply want you to understand the risk."

Walter said nothing as they all exited the Royal Archives. Risk be damned, he _would_ return to Ecclesia, and he _would_ seal Encablossa back into whatever hole he crawled out from. He would make this right, even if it killed him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **Journey to the Farfort**

The Shepherds struggled to keep up with Walter's brutal pace, with the exceptions of Sully, Frederick, and Chrom, all of them being officially trained as soldiers and familiar with marching. Chrom had allowed Walter to set the pace, and even he was beginning to regret it, as they made camp on the final night of their journey to the Farfort and Chrom applied salve to his blistered feet. Tomorrow morning they would walk back to Port Grant (Chrom had opted to sleep under the stars, and the rest of the Shepherds had followed), get a boat to the Farfort, clear out the bandits, and then try to get Walter home.

"Hey Chrom," Robin said, sitting down on the log next to Chrom. He winced when he removed his own boots, and saw even larger blisters than Chrom had. "Mind lending me that salve? Walter's pace is killing my feet," he said with a wry laugh.

"You and me both," Chrom grinned, passing the salve to his tactician. He gave a small frown at the shabby state of Robin's boots, and resolved to get him better clothing when they returned to Ylisse.

"Chrom, I have a question," Robin stated, his voice suddenly serious. Chrom nodded for him to continue. "Why did you help me, when I was lost and alone in that field?"

 _Where did this come from?_ Chrom wondered. "…Because you were lost and alone in a field?" Chrom answered, nonplussed.

"You know Frederick was right, don't you?" Robin replied. "That was incredibly dangerous. You didn't know who I was or what I was capable of."

"So, what, you'd rather I had left you in that field? Is marching so awful?" Chrom replied with a laugh.

"No, that's not it," Robin replied, chuckling. "Well, marching is terrible, but that's not what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to say is that you need to watch your own back. Blindly trusting people will get you killed."

Chrom frowned. "I'm not going to just leave people to suffer, Robin, that's why I formed the Shepherds. It's my duty to help people, in whatever way I can."

"That's a fine sentiment," Robin replied, frowning himself, "but can you live by it? If you trust the wrong person, and get stabbed in the back, then you won't be able to help anyone else."

"And if I don't help someone based on a hunch that they might be a threat," Chrom replied, his voice growing irritated, "then someone who genuinely needs help will go without it. I cannot abide that." He took a deep breath. "But that's why I rely so heavily on Frederick. You as well, and the rest of the Shepherds. I'm confident that you will all watch my back for me."

Robin gave a small smile. "Well, I suppose someone does have to save you from your good intentions," he said with a quiet laugh. "And you can count on me to do it. I owe you, after all."

"You owe me nothing," Chrom replied, clapping his hand on Robin's shoulder, "and you don't need to stay with us out of some sense of obligation. You're free to leave at any time."

"That's not why I decided to stay," Robin said, shaking his head. He gestured out to the rest of the camp, all massaging their blistered feet or trying to set up their tents. "The Shepherds are why I stayed. This is the best idea I've heard of in my life."

"Robin, you don't remember most of your life," Chrom pointed out with a grin.

Robin punched him on the arm and laughed. "I'm still sure of it. This militia of yours allows you to tackle the threats to the halidom without officially dragging the halidom into an armed conflict. You go around, helping people, without asking for money like mercenaries would, allowing that gold to be put to use keeping the nation moving forward. You are better trained than the average soldier, so you are more effective than just increasing patrols would be. Both pragmatically and ideologically, this is a fantastic idea." He looked down at his feet and frowned slightly. "To be honest, I feel kind of lost. I don't know who I really am, Chrom, or where I would go if I wasn't here." He looked back up to Chrom, his face determined. "But the Shepherds? The thought of joining them gives me a sense of purpose, and it's a good purpose to get behind. I might not remember my old life, but I figure this is as good a way as any to start a new one."

Chrom couldn't help but smile. "And you're a valuable part of the Shepherds, Robin. I don't know what could have happened in Southtown without your help, and with war against Plegia looming on the horizon, we need someone as skilled as you."

Robin smiled and started to respond, before they heard noise in the bushes to their left. Before they could do or say anything, a person barreled into the clearing. It was a young, purple haired boy, younger even than Lissa, wearing a brass pot on his head and carrying a pitchfork in a white knuckle grip.

His frantic eyes settled on Chrom, and he immediately ran over to him. "Holy gosh, the innkeep was right, Prince Chrom and his Shepherds _were_ campin' in the woods! Please m'lord, ya gotta help me!"

Chrom stood up and laid a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Peace, son. Let's start off with your name."

"I'm Donny!" He claimed loudly. The rest of the Shepherds had taken notice now. "Er, that is, Donnel, your Majestyful," he said, trying to make his voice sound more formal. "I live over yonder at the Farfort. A bunch of rotten-toothed, pig shit bandits done captured a bunch of villagers. Er, pardon m' language, Your Princeliness."

"Let's hold off on the titles," Chrom said as Robin sniggered behind him. He somehow knew that he'd be hearing "Your Majestyful" and "Your Princeliness" a lot in the coming days. "Where are they?"

"They're holdin' up in the ruins o' the ol' fort," Donny answered. "Please, m'lord, you gots to help me! They took my ma, she's all I got left in this world! I'm beggin' ya!"

"We will, Donnel," Chrom replied, his features turning fiery. "Shepherds, change of plans! We leave for the Farfort now!"

"Is that wise, Prince Chrom?" Walter said as he walked up. "The pace I set today was brutal; many of our soldiers are still nursing themselves. Sumia and Lissa in particular are almost incapable of walking." Chrom glanced over to where Lissa was staring at her staff thoughtfully, as though contemplating whether or not she should actually use it on her own feet.

"Then they will have to remain here," Chrom answered. "Vaike can stay behind to watch them. The rest of us will follow Donnel to the Farfort."

"Oh, thank the gods for ya, m'lord!" Donnel shouted in glee. "Quick, follow me!"

000

"Donnel," Walter said. An hour and a half after the boy had run into their camp, the Shepherds found themselves on small fishing vessel that a kind old man had volunteered to loan them, on their way out to the Farfort. Their destination was in sight now, a moderately large island with a thick forest on the eastern edge. Even from here, they could see the crumbling remains of the old military outpost.

"Y-yes sir?" Donnel stuttered out. _Awfully nervous around nobility,_ Walter thought with amusement.

"What do you plan to do, while we secure the island?" Walter asked.

"He's going to help us, of course," Chrom interrupted, coming up behind them.

"H-help y'all?" Donnel stammered, his voice terrified. "But your Graciousness, I'm just a farmhand. I don't know nothin' 'bout fightin' and whatnot."

"So fight and get stronger," Chrom replied simply.

"But m'lord, I ain't no warrior," Donnel insisted.

"Nobody's born a warrior, Donnel," Chrom answered, his voice reassuring. "Farming's not far from combat training anyway. A sickle's not far off from a sword. Bandits are tougher than wheat, but the principle's the same."

"I-if you insist, your Lordliness," Donnel muttered submissively.

"Go see Sully. She'll get you a proper weapon," Chrom stated. Donnel nodded numbly, still struggling to come to grips with the idea of battle, before following Chrom's suggestion and going to see Sully at the opposite end of the ship.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Walter asked once Donnel was out of earshot. "He's just a boy."

"Yes, I am," Chrom replied. "With Lissa, Sumia, and Vaike out of action, we're too short-handed to take on an entire bandit troop ourselves. And even if we could, it wouldn't work out permanently. We can kill these bandits today, sure. But not soon after we leave, new bandits will move back in, ready to terrorize the villagers again. But if they see that the villagers themselves are willing to stand up and fight for themselves, they'll be less willing to attack them."

Walter nodded. It was valid reasoning, if a bit risky to the welfare of one purple-haired teenaged boy. _People here have such strange hair colors,_ Walter mused absently. "I'll watch over the boy, then." He said aloud. "He will likely receive injuries in this battle, and it would be good to have someone who knows healing magic but can still fight overseeing him."

"Oh, I didn't know you were a healer," Chrom said, mildly surprised. "I would have gotten you a staff otherwise."

Walter cocked his head slightly in confusion. "Why would I require a staff for healing?"

Now Chrom mirrored his movement. "I thought healers needed staves to… you know what, never mind," he said with a wry chuckle. "Magic isn't my expertise. Thank you, for watching over him. I'll let Robin know, so he can build his strategy around that."

Ten minutes later, with the shore almost in sight, Chrom and Robin called the Shepherds into the center of the deck. Most were already on the deck, with only Sully taking a nap below, so it took but a few seconds for everyone to be assembled.

"Alright," Chrom began, "we have a plan to deal with the bandits at the Farfort. Donnel was kind enough to draw us a map of the terrain, and Robin was able to build a strategy around it. Robin?"

"Right," Robin stated, stepping forward, unfurling a map. A very crudely drawn map. "I've cross referenced this map with one Chrom brought, it's accurate enough for our purposes," Robin began, to curtail the dubious looks that he was receiving over what looked more like a child's treasure map than an actual one. "The bandits are holed up in the ruins of the fort. Donnel managed to scout out their positions before he left the island to find help. Thankfully, the walls are in a state of severe disrepair, so they've only put themselves at a disadvantage by cornering themselves in a dilapidated fort that can't be properly defended. However, the walls are intact enough to be manned at quite a few points, and according to Donnel, they have several archers in very good firing positions. If we had larger numbers, that wouldn't be as much of a problem, but we play with the hand we're dealt. We'll be splitting into two teams. Team one, consisting of Chrom, Frederick, Sully, Virion, and myself, will charge the front of the fort, creating a distraction. Team two will consist of Walter and Donnel, and they will move through the woods here-" he pointed to a section of thick forest on the eastern edge of the map, "-to a crumbled section of the wall. From there, they will mount the walls, kill or force the archers off of the walls, and open the gates of the fort, allowing Team One to charge in and finish them off. Questions?"

"What if Team Two fails their mission?" Sully asked. _Thank you for the vote of confidence, Lady Sully,_ Walter thought dryly.

"Then Team One moves to exploit whatever other openings there are into the fort," Robin replied simply. "There are plenty of them, according to Donnel's observations before he came to get help. I didn't plan on doing that in the first place, however, because the crumbling sections of walls form natural chokepoints, which the bandits could easily use to kill us if they're not idiots."

"Why are there so few people on Team Two?" Frederick asked. "Would it not be more prudent to split our numbers more evenly? Could we perchance send Virion with Team Two?" Virion gave a wordless shout of indignation, Frederick's attempt to be rid of him obvious. The other Shepherds laughed.

"We could," Robin said with a shrug, "but I'd like the distraction team to be large enough to hold their attention. Team Two also relies more heavily on stealth, which gets progressively more difficult the more people you have." Frederick nodded in acceptance.

"What are Donnel and I to do once we oust the archers?" Walter asked.

"Secure the villagers," Robin replied. "Team One will make it our objective to clear out the remaining bandits and hopefully kill their leader, while you two find the villagers and move them to safety. If they can't be moved, then ensure the bandits don't get past you to kill them out of spite."

"And if the villagers are dead?" Walter asked. He heard Donnel give a sharp intake of breath behind him. It was a callous thing to suggest, with Donnel's own mother being one of the captives, but it was a question that needed asking.

"Then use your control of the wall to your advantage," Robin replied, shooting Donnel a sympathetic look. "I know you can cast magic, rain some fire down on them. Can you use a bow, Donnel?" he asked the young boy.

"I reckon I can," Donnel answered, his voice shaky. "Only ever hunted some deer n' the like, but I think I could do it."

"Even better, "Robin stated as the ship scraped against the sand of the Farfort Island beach. "Any other questions?" Nobody spoke up. "Alright then, let's go rescue those villagers."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **From Sickle To Sword**

"Hold," Walter whispered, putting his hand on Donnel's shoulder to stop them. Instinctively, both of them crouched behind different means of cover; Walter behind a tree, and Donnel behind a nearby bush. Walter slowly leaned out and watched as the archer continued his patrol, letting out a small sigh of relief. He was sure that they'd been seen.

The Shepherds had reached the island just before sunset, and had reached the fort under cover of darkness. Walter and Donnel had been sent on ahead of the rest of the Shepherds to get in position. The attack would begin just before dawn. They were there now; a hole in the wall stood but twenty paces from their current hiding spot. Now they simply needed to wait for the sounds of battle to begin.

It did not take long. A thunderous crack sounded from the southern end of the fort, and there was a scream of agony. Within seconds, the distant ring of steel on steel sounded, with more sporadic cracks sounding off. The archer nearest them began moving toward the commotion, leaving his section of the wall exposed.

"That's our signal," Walter whispered to Donnel. "Let's go." The two then darted out from behind cover, quietly covering the open ground. They clambered over the rubble of the wall, Walter cringing as one of his greaves smacked loudly against a stone. There was no retaliation, however, so they continued onward. The interior of the fort was as beat up as the exterior; the old stables were practically collapsed, the hay moldy and scattered. Several overturned carts and wagons were scattered about, and the two took cover behind one of them as Walter tried to determine their path.

To their left was the nearest staircase up to the wall. Walter was about to order Donnel to move out, but the sound of nearby footsteps caused him to stop.

"What the hell is goin' on out here!?" a man shouted. Walter looked over to Donnel, only to see a grimace of rage that looked utterly foreign on the boy's face. Donnel began standing up, but Walter forced him down to the ground, pinning him with one arm while covering his mouth with the other. He didn't know what the boy's issue was, but they couldn't afford anything rash from Donnel.

"People be attackin' the fort, Roddick," another bandit shouted. It appeared nobody noticed his short scuffle with Donnel. "Looks to be Chrom and 'is Shepherds!"

"Try to catch them alive if you oafs can manage it!" this "Roddick" shouted. "Just one o' them royals will fetch more than all of these worthless villagers."

"Why not just kill 'em and be done with it?" a third bandit suggested. "Ain't nothin' but trouble, 'specially the whore o' that bugger what broke your ribs last time."

"Well, 'e won't be breakin' any of my ribs anymore, now will 'e, with a big ol' axe wound in 'is 'ead?" Roddick answered with a sadistic tone. "B'sides, I want that purple 'aired brat of 'ers to show 'is stupid face back 'ere, so I can kill 'im in front of 'is own mum, just like I did 'is dad." Walter felt Donnel struggle beneath him, but he kept the boy still. "And bait's only good if it's still kickin'." He let out a short laugh. "Keep them damn Shepherds outta my fort, I'm going out back." Walter then heard the footsteps stomp away, and two more sets as the bandits he was talking to moved off to join the battle.

Walter released Donnel after another minute. The young farmer shoved himself back up to a sitting position behind the crate, heaving heavily, his eyes wet.

Walter looked at Donnel sadly."That Roddick character killed your father." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Donnel replied shortly, clutching his borrowed lance with a knuckle tight grip as his face twisted into a mask of rage again. " And I'm fixin' to give 'im a taste of his own vulnerary."

"No," Walter said firmly. Donnel leveled an intense glare at him, but Walter ignored it. "The others are still depending on us to get rid of those archers and save the villagers. It sounds like they're still alive. We can't do that if you go off on a revenge mission and get yourself killed. Your mother could also die while you're off trying to kill Roddick. I know you don't want that."

Donnel's features screwed up even more in rage. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Slowly, his features dialed down to an expression of moderate discomfort. "I guess yer right, Sir Walter," he sighed in defeat. "Some things're more important than giving some piece of pig shit what he gots comin' to 'im."

Walter nodded. "Good. Now follow me." The two quickly took off to the wall, the bandits still being distracted by the Shepherds outside of the gate. All four of the archers with the bandits were now on the walls nearest the front gate, firing out at the Shepherds.

"Git out from b'hind them trees, cowards!" one shouted. Walter spared a glance over the wall, and noted with satisfaction that every single bandit outside of the gates had been killed. With only five or six more inside, not counting the archers, they would easily rout them. He quickly dashed out from cover, ramming the archer with his shoulder. The man gave a quick yelp of surprise, before crashing into the ground twenty feet below. He didn't get up. Walter then turned to his nearest comrade, still shocked by Walter's sudden appearance, and drove his mace into the archer's skull. Donnel charged into the fray with his own wordless battle cry, startling the remaining archers long enough to run one completely through with his borrowed lance.

The remaining archer began to panic at having two melee fighters directly on top of him. Donnel charged directly at him, screaming madly. Walter took that opportunity to find the gate's counterweight, and smashed it with his mace. The rusted chains and gears snapped under the stress, and the counterweight crashed to the earth, crushing one of the bandits waiting inside of the gates for the Shepherds. The gates flew open with a resounding crash.

"For Ylisse!" Walter heard Chrom cry from outside the base, and seconds later the other Shepherds were charging into the base. The bandits ranks held up for a scant few seconds, before they broke and the bandits began retreating further into the base.

"Chrom!" Walter shouted from the wall as he saw the Shepherds cross below them. The Prince quickly glanced upward, his expression curious. "Capture their leader alive, an axe wielder by the name of Roddick!" Chrom gave a wordless nod, before echoing the call to the others.

Walter turned to see Donnel standing over the corpse of the last archer. A single arrow protruded from his shoulder, while his lance protruded from the archer's neck. Donnel was staring numbly at the corpses.

 _Obviously the first time he's killed a man_ , Walter noted sadly. _I hope it will be the last._ He gently placed his hand on Donnel's shoulder, and the boy jumped at his touch. He turned his gaze to Walter, his eyes wide and dead.

"Donnel," he said comfortingly. "Let's go find your mother." Donnel nodded numbly, allowing Walter to lead him down the nearest staircase.

It didn't take them long to find the villagers. They had been held in a makeshift holding pen formed from one of the old stables. There were ten of them in total, and one woman's face lit up in relief and hope when she saw them.

"Donny!" She yelled, running over to the young man, embracing him. Donnel embraced her back, tears coming to his eyes. "I was so worried 'bout you!"

"I'm fine, Ma," Donnel replied quietly. "It's all gonna be okay now."

They separated, and his mother shot Donnel a worried look, before turning to Walter. She could tell something was wrong, but this wasn't the time to ask. "Thank you so much for lookin' after my boy, I didn't know what those bastards woulda done to him if they found him. And thank you for savin' us."

"The battle isn't over yet," Walter replied gravely. "Follow us; we'll get you out of the fort and to safety." The woman nodded and gestured to the other villagers, who all stood up, hopeful looks on their faces. Walter and Donnel led the villagers out of the fort as the sounds of clashing steel began winding down.

"Go, now," Walter urged them. "Return to your village, try to leave the island if you can. We'll come back to you when we've gotten rid of the bandits." He turned to Donnel. "Go with them," he urged quietly. "You can keep them safe, and you belong with them."

Donnel was quiet for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "Not anymore, I don't," he answered softly. "C'mon, let's go help the others." Without waiting for a response, he turned back into the fort and followed the trail of bodies the Shepherds had left in their wake. The sounds of battle were scarcely audible anymore.

"What's wrong?" Donnel's mother asked Walter, shocked. "What did you do to my boy?"

Walter knew exactly what Donnel was thinking, however. "He killed two men today," Walter replied. Donnel's mother's face paled. "He just needs some time to come to terms with it."

"I-I see…" she replied quietly. "Well, we'll be waitin' for y'all at the village." With that, she turned around, and the captured villagers fled toward their homes. Walter turned and followed Donnel back into the fort, which was now quiet of the sounds of battle. The sun began to rise, a distinct red tint to the sky.

000

"This is the man you asked for, Walter," Chrom stated as Frederick and Sully forced a man to his knees before him and Donnel. He had clearly put up a fight, a freely bleeding wound in his shoulder and a broken nose. "What did he do?"

"This bastard done killed my pa'" Donnel replied, his rage returning.

"'N I enjoyed erry second o' it, ya li'l shit," The bandit spat out past broken teeth. "I only wish I'd done the same for you." Sully backhanded him, and Walter heard an audible crack. Either his jaw or more teeth were broken, to be sure. Roddick fell silent, probably because he could no longer speak.

"So, what do we do with him?" Robin asked.

That was the million-silver question. The Shepherds glanced uncertainly at each other as Donnel simmered in anger.

"Donnel?" Walter asked. The young man turned to Walter, a faraway look in his eyes. "He murdered your father, terrorized your village, the right to decide his fate is yours."

Donnel didn't reply for the longest time, before he finally sighed. "You deserve to die," Donnel began, "but I've had enough o' killin' fer one day. Probably enough fer my whole damn life."

"Soft, yella' bellied coward," Roddick spat around his broken teeth. Sully casually jabbed her lance into his shoulder. A short cry of pain, then more silence from the bandit leader.

"So, what do we do with him, then?" Chrom asked gently.

"Tie him up, have some soldiers pick him up later," Donnel answered. "Then throw him in the most miserable dungeon y'all got and leave him to rot. It's better'n he deserves, but I can't just kill 'im outright. I ain't him." He then turned around and stormed out of the fort.

"Sully, more rope," Frederick ordered. She briefly saluted before walking off to find more.

Walter nodded in approval. It took a good man to show mercy, especially for crimes as heinous as Roddick's. _Donnel is a better man than I,_ Walter told himself, as Frederick and Sully bound the man to a post sitting down with enough rope to rig a ship's sails. Sully "accidentally" stomped on the man's kneecaps; the sound of breaking bones and screams of agony interrupting Walter's thought process. "Just in case you manage to escape, you lowlife," Sully said shortly as the Shepherds began walking out of the fort. Walter gave a soft laugh and shook his head before he followed them

000

Several hours and a multitude of thanks from the Farfort villagers later, the Shepherds were trekking back across the beach to where their transportation sat. They were tired, but filled with the unique sense of satisfaction one gets from doing the right thing. All that lay between them and Ylisstol was a quick trip to Outrealm Island to try to find Walter a way to his own home.

"M'lords, wait!" someone shouted behind them. The Shepherds turned around to see Donnel running up to them, still wearing his brass pot and clutching his lance. Sully had told Donnel to keep it, to keep his village safe.

"Donnel?" Chrom asked, confused. "I thought you were going to stay here."

Donnel shook his head. "Take me with you, m'lord! I reckon there's more I can do now- more that I needs be doin'. I'll train and become strong, so's I can protect my ma, and the rest of my village! The whole world, even!"

"I like this kid, he's got some guts," Sully piped up. "I say bring him. Between Frederick and I, we'll get him whipped into shape."

Chrom turned back to Donnel. "Are you sure about this Donnel? War looms on the horizon, and it will be bloody. Many people will die, and any one of us could be one of those casualties. Are you sure you want that?"

Donnel looked uneasy. "Not entirely, m'lord. Truth be told, I'm not fond o' killin', not one bit. And the idea o' dyin' 'fore my time don't tickle my fancy neither. But that's most people, innit? Nobody who ain't bonkers likes killin' other people, or wants to risk dyin'. But I figure that if I step up, then that's someone else who won't hafta. Someone who ain't already killed a man," he added quietly. "That's someone who ain't gotta give up their own peace, and that makes it all alright by me. And once the war's over, I can always come back to the farm, right? So please, m'lord, I beg ya, take me with you!"

Chrom looked uncertain for a minute, before shaking his head, then nodding. "Alright then, Donnel," Chrom said proudly, holding out his hand to Donnel to shake. "Welcome to the Shepherds." Donnel took his hand and shook it vigorously. The Shepherds finished boarding the fishing boat, ready to return to the mainland and bring Walter to Outrealm Island.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 **The Outrealm Gate**

"Will nobody in this blasted port ferry me to that cursed island!?" Walter roared in frustration. They had arrived back in Port Grant earlier that morning, and the Shepherds had dispersed throughout town to charter passage to the island. After several hours of searching, however, the Shepherds had regrouped at a tavern to find out if anyone had secured passage. The search proved to be fruitless, however, as Walter sat at a table and glowered into a mug of cheap mead. At his table sat Robin, Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick, shooting him sympathetic looks.

"We did warn you that Outrealm Island was dangerous," Chrom told him. "It's small wonder none of the local fishermen want to try to make the trip."

"There must be someone," Walter insisted. He glanced out the window, and could just barely see the island on the horizon. It looked more like a mountain that had somehow been cast adrift, unforgiving cliffs surrounding the interior of the island. _So close, yet so far away_ , he lamented.

"Outrealm Island, you say?" a voice said from nearby. The five of them whirled around to see an old, brown robed man hunched over a cane, looking at them knowingly. "For what reason would you go to that accursed island?"

"I must return home," Walter informed him. This man was a possible lead. "The gateway on that island is my only hope."

"Not many know the purpose of that archway on the island," the man said, grinning. "I'm one of the few who do, and that's only because I've lived just off the coast from it for my entire life."

Walter's hopes grew. "Do you know how to get there? How to activate it?"

"Normally, the island is inaccessible, and the gateway shut," the old man replied. "However, about a week ago, it activated. Only once have I seen the gate activate before, but there was no mistaking it. When it activated, the bridge rose as well, surfacing right along the coastline near my home."

"Bridge?" Chrom interjected, confused. "What bridge? I thought the island was cut off by riptides and dangerous rocks, with no footpaths."

"Why, it's the only way onto or off of the island, of course," the old man cackled. "The bridge only rises when the gate is active; to keep fools from tampering with things they don't know nothing about. Some magic of the old gods, the tricky bastards. Far as I know, it's still raised."

"Terribly convenient," Frederick spoke up, his face set in a suspicious frown, "that this bridge would be raised when we seek passage to the island."

"Well, it could have sunk again for all I know," the old man shrugged. "It was still up when I walked to town, though. Might as well go check it out. Better than sitting here and stewing in mead, isn't it?"

"This man is right," Walter said, standing up. "We will get nowhere asking around this port. Thank you….?" he trailed off, waiting for the old man to provide his name.

"Hubba," he replied a lopsided grin on his weathered features. "People around these parts call me Old Man Hubba. My house is a bit east along the coast, only building for a mile or so. The bridge will be right by it, can't miss it. It was a pleasure to meet you." With that, he nodded and walked away from their table, moving up to the bartender and ordering a drink.

"We have our lead," Walter announced, beginning to stride toward the door. The other Shepherds scrambled to follow. "We make for this bridge."

"What happens if the bridge is gone, Walter?" Robin asked as the Shepherds filed out of the bar. "The old man might be mad, after all."

"Do you have any better ideas?" Walter asked sharply, whirling around to face Robin. Robin raised his hands defensively. Walter turned back around and started striding east along the coast. "If the bridge is gone, then I'll find another way out there. Even if I have to sell my armor and purchase a bloody rowboat."

Robin frowned in concern at Walter's obvious desperation, but neither he nor the other Shepherds said anything as they exited the town.

000

After an hour of walking, they finally reached what must have been Old Man Hubba's house. It was a modest little house, more of a shack, really. But what grabbed Walter's attention was the tremendous stone bridge jutting up from the sea. It was wide enough to accommodate five people standing shoulder to shoulder, and sat not far above the ocean's surface. It looked like it might once have been decoratively carved, but the ravages of being submerged under the sea had long since eroded away any clear decoration. It extended as far as his eye could easily see, and he had no doubt that it reached Outrealm Island.

"By the gods," Frederick gasped. "The old man wasn't mad."

"This means the gate may still be active!" Walter shouted jubilantly. "Quickly, across the bridge!" Without waiting for confirmation, Walter took off like a shot, running across the bridge.

He was forced to slow down quickly, however. The bridge was soaked in sea spray and covered in large patches of algae, so footing was treacherous. Even so, Walter walked as quickly as caution allowed, the other Shepherds struggling to keep up. The sea breeze began picking up quickly as they walked, the clouds growing ever darker. Soon, it began to rain, and hard.

"Where did this blasted storm come from?" Chrom cursed as the rain began falling in torrents. "The skies were utterly clear before we started to cross!"

"Likely whatever magic keeps the sea impassable is creating this storm to deter us!" Robin shouted back, struggling to make himself heard over the howling wind. "I don't think whatever it is wants us there!"

"It will not work!" Walter shouted resolutely. "This gateway is my only way home!" And so he pressed on. And so the Shepherds reluctantly followed. Walter slipped several times on the sea grime still present on the bridge, and the other Shepherds had no better a time of it. At one point a bolt of lightning crashed down directly in front of Walter; he only avoided it because his foot had slipped sideways again and stopped his forward progress.

"Walter, this is too dangerous!" Chrom yelled, barely audible over the furious winds. "We must turn back!"

"Then turn back!" Walter replied simply as he continued struggling forward. Chrom growled in frustration before turning back to the rest of the Shepherds. "Frederick, take the others and turn back!" he ordered.

"Milord, surely you don't intend to-" Frederick started.

"Go!" Chrom cut him off. "I won't allow Walter to walk to his death alone, but I won't drag the rest of you with me either. Go, now!"

"I'm staying with you, Chrom!" Robin shouted. "Someone's gotta make sure you don't get killed on the way back, after all!" he continued with a grin.

Chrom grinned back and shook his head. "Fine, it's your funeral!" Chrom shouted back with a laugh. As Frederick ushered the other Shepherds back, the other three continued forward.

They were almost to the island now; its great rock walls loomed over them, and the ocean beneath them was practically frothing as it tossed about. As Walter looked over the edge, he noticed the water suddenly drop several feet. Fearing the worst, he began looking around, and surely enough an enormous wall of water was forming.

"Brace yourselves!" Walter cried as he dropped down to the stones and up against one side of the bridge, the opposite side from the wave. Chrom and Robin didn't question him, and followed suit. A few seconds later, the wave arrived. It rammed into Walter with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and push his head into the bridge with enough force to make him dizzy. As quickly as his lungs stopped pushing the air out, however, they began filling with water. Walter's heart tripled in pace as a sharp pain began filling his lungs, the seawater burning them and depriving him of air. He flailed in panic as he began to suffocate.

Before he could, however, the wave passed, and Walter felt cold air against his skin once more. He heaved himself away from the side of the bridge and onto all fours, before he retched. An incredible amount of seawater exited his mouth, and he greedily gulped at the air that replaced it, even as the air caused his lungs to burn further. He coughed violently, even more seawater leaving his mouth, and he shakily rose to his feet. The end of the bridge was a mere stone's throw away, a small, rocky hill beyond it, leading up into the interior of the island through a narrow passage.

He turned back to see Chrom and Robin in similar shape, barely standing and still coughing up water. "We are almost there!" Walter croaked out. "Quickly, before another wave comes!" The three then took off toward the island, their lungs burning and muscles protesting, until at last their feet hit earth rather than stone. The three of them collapsed to the ground.

"By the Gods," Chrom groaned, "that was harrowing."

"How in the nine hells are we supposed to get back across that?" Robin coughed out, thumping his chest from with his fist to get the last of the water out. "I can barely move, let alone withstand another wave like that."

"I told you both to turn back," Walter gasped. "I could have made it across alone."

"Yeah," Chrom answered, stumbling as he stood back up. He then clapped his hand on Walter's shoulder. "But that's what friends are for," he finished with a smile.

Walter returned it with his own small smile, before wordlessly gesturing them both up the hill. They began to climb, slipping on the wet rocks, each of them cursing as they did so. After several agonizing minutes however, they reached the top.

The top of the hill was a small clearing covered in greenery, the eye of the storm allowing the light of day to shine through. Walter could hear several songbirds singing in the branches of the sparse trees in the clearing, but he cared little for the scenery. For standing directly before him was his objective: the gateway. It was an exact mirror to the one at the Altar of Nowart…though nothing was in the center of this arch, neither stone nor light.

 _No,_ Walter thought in horror as he jogged up to the gateway. It didn't react to his presence, however, not even when he stood between the two columns. "No," he gasped aloud, falling to his knees. "It's closed. The gateway's closed!"

 _What now?_ Walter despaired. _Why does the Lord torture me so? Is this my penance for my sins? To live in agony, wondering if Ecclesia even stands anymore? Am I to waste away here in Ylisse, pining for a home I can never return to?_

"Walter?" Chrom asked gently, noticing the storm dying down. Walter didn't answer. "Walter, are you-"

Walter interrupted him with a wordless scream of rage, before he shot to his feet. Chrom backed away in shock as Walter began casting spells at the archway. Bolts of lightning, balls of fire, spikes of ice (Chrom didn't even know ice could be cast in a spell), he shot them all at the archway. They splashed harmlessly against the stone, however, not even scratching or scorching it. Walter roared again, before drawing his mace and swinging madly at the archway. His mace screeched as it skidded off of the stone, but that didn't deter Walter. He continued striking the stone, as Chrom backed up to where Robin was standing and watched sympathetically.

After a while, Walter lost the energy to swing his mace, and dropped it. He gave one last roar of despair and rage, before dropping limply to his knees. Chrom and Robin tentatively made their way over, but Walter didn't seem to notice. He was staring blankly at the ground, dead silent.

"Are you alright, Walter?" Robin asked hesitantly after a moment of awkward silence. Walter simply gave a noncommittal grunt. "I'm sorry," Robin added.

Walter grunted again, before rising to his feet. "Nothing to be done about it," he sighed resignedly, before walking back toward the entrance to the clearing. "Let's go."

"You're just going to give up?" Chrom asked in shock.

"Of course not," Walter spat bitterly, not even looking back, and not stopping. The other two quickly jogged to get next to him. "But sitting here and brooding will solve nothing. I will simply have to find another way."

"Perhaps when Miriel returns with Stahl, the two of you can figure out a way to activate it," Chrom suggested.

"Miriel? Stahl?" Walter asked, his voice curious. He continued looking forward as they neared the exit.

"Two of our other Shepherds. Miriel's one of our two…well, make that three, mages," Chrom said, casting a glance at Robin. "Stahl is our third cavalier. I dispatched them both with a contingent of soldiers to take out another group of bandits, around the time I originally left Ylisstol to track down the bandits at Southtown. They should be back by the time we return to Ylisstol. Miriel's a genius, especially with magic. If anyone can help you activate that gate, she can."

"Then I will return with you," Walter replied. "May we use the Royal Archives in Ylisstol?"

"I'll have everything in the Archives on this gateway brought to you," Chrom promised. "We'll find you a way home, Walter, don't worry."

"I have faith," Walter replied, determined. "I will trust in the Lord, He has not failed me yet." He finally turned to look at Chrom. "I will also place faith in you, and the other Shepherds. You are young yet, but you are fine soldiers. Few try to change the world they live in, content to let darkness fester as long as it doesn't affect them; the fact that you do is worthy of respect."

"We will do our best to remain worthy," Chrom stated with a smile as the three climbed back down the hill, and started crossing the bridge back to where the other Shepherds were waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **The Road to Regna Ferox**

"What do you mean, Miriel and Stahl haven't returned yet?" Chrom asked Captain Phila.

The Shepherds had returned to Ylisstol just before nightfall on the sixth day after their departure to the Farfort. Chrom had ordered the rest of the Shepherds to rest for their impending trip to Regna Ferox, and went to deliver his report to his sister. Afterward, he had asked Phila about his two remaining Shepherds, who were to report back to her if he was not available, only to learn that they were still away.

"Precisely what I mean, Prince Chrom," Phila answered bemusedly. "They sent the soldiers you dispatched with them back. The bandits were apparently already dealt with when they arrived."

Chrom cocked his head in confusion. That made no sense. "Alright… So, the bandits were already dead, so they decided to return, but why did Miriel and Stahl not return with them?"

"They didn't say, Prince Chrom," Phila answered stoically. "The soldiers did not ask, and your Shepherds did not volunteer information. They must not believe they're in any danger, however, if they were willing to send back all of the soldiers."

Chrom groaned. "Miriel probably came up with some experiment she just _had_ to try," he concluded. "I suppose we'll have to hope they're back by the time we return from Regna Ferox. Walter won't be happy, but there's little I can do about it."

000

"Again!" Walter barked.

"Aw, shucks, Sir Walter," Donnel groaned in exasperation as he struggled to his feet, nearly stumbling in the dark, "We just got done marchin', it's already dark out, I'm tired, and-"

"Do you think the enemy will give you a breather after three days of straight combat!?" Frederick yelled in disbelief. "Again, soldier! You can rest when you're dead!"

Donnel jumped. Frederick sure was mighty terrifying when he was angry. "Y-yes sir, Sir Frederick, sir!" He lunged at Walter with his lance, who deflected it with ease. Sully then leaped at the farmer with her own dulled lance, forcing him to dodge to the side. He barely gathered himself together before Walter's practice mace was flying toward him again, forcing him to dodge yet again.

Frederick and Sully had taken it upon themselves to train the newest recruit to the Shepherds. Walter had volunteered to help. By Sully's insistence, they were doing a method she referred to as "sink or swim": throwing someone into "deep water", forcing them to work harder to survive. The "deep water" in this instance was a young farmer being forced into combat against two experienced knights, only being allowed to quit after he had scored a hit on both of them without getting hit himself. Thus far, he had only earned himself several cuts and bruises, and a mangled ego.

Donnel scrambled out of the way as Sully lunged yet again, only to fall to the ground with a pained grunt as Walter rammed into him with his shield. Walter reached down and tapped Donnel's head with his mace. Donnel winced. Even if it was just a heavily padded ball of iron on the end of that mace, it still hurt like crazy. "Dead," Frederick stated coldly. "Again!"

"Dang it," Donnel grumbled, before pulling himself to his feet. This time, he almost _knew_ Sully's attack was coming, and just barely leaned back to avoid it. Her lance flew past him all the same, and he landed his own awkward jab, more of a swipe, at a vulnerable spot in her leg.

"Ho-lee cow, I dunnit!" Donnel cried with joy as Sully fumed.

"Eyes on the battle!" Walter barked. Donnel yelped and ducked as Walter's mace whistled overhead so close that Donnel could feel one of his curly purple hairs snag on it. Operating on instinct, he lunged forward, catching Walter off guard and sending them both tumbling to the ground. He quickly scrambled off and retrieved his lance, turning around just as Walter got to his feet.

"Good use of unconventional maneuvers," Frederick stated, his tone almost proud. "If you'd had a dagger, you could have finished him there. But this spar isn't over yet. And if you lose, you must face both of them again."

"Aww dang, what'd I ever do to you, Sir Frederick, sir?" Donnel groaned. He was about to complain more, but he heard Walter's boot crunch against the soil and pitched himself sideways, barely missing getting rammed again. Walter had barely recovered and turned before Donnel had collected himself, and barely brought his shield up between himself and the dull tip of Donnel's practice lance. Donnel then grabbed the edge of Walter's shield and wrenched sideways, forcing Walter off balance. He then took his lance, held nearer to the head, and jabbed quickly. Walter grunted in discomfort as the dulled blade of the lance still managed to cut open his forehead.

"Well done," Walter complimented as he wiped the blood out of his eyes and cast a quick healing spell on himself. "You have quite a bit of aptitude for the art of combat."

"Indeed," Frederick affirmed as he walked into the sparring circle. Sully was still fuming at the edge, however; she was a proud woman, and did not enjoy being bested by a farmhand. "Though I must say, your natural fighting style seems to be more suitable for swordsmanship. Tomorrow, we will see how you fare with a blade. Get some rest, Donnel. We will rise before dawn to begin your training in earnest."

"His actual training will have to wait!" a voice called. The knights and new recruit turned to see Prince Chrom striding to them from the entrance to the yard. "We depart for Regna Ferox in the morning, Shepherds, so make sure you're well rested tonight."

Walter's face twisted into a look of confusion, and Chrom took notice. "Sir Walter, a word?" Taking the cue, the others left, leaving Walter standing with Chrom.

"I'm sorry to say this, Walter," Chrom began hesitantly, "but Miriel and Stahl haven't returned yet, and we can't delay the mission to Regna Ferox any longer."

"Why haven't they returned?" Walter asked, his features becoming worried. "Were they slain?"

"No," Chrom answered, his face becoming agitated. "The bandits they were sent to dispatch were already dealt with, likely some local vigilante group, and they just sent the soldiers back without an explanation."

Walter's face mirrored Chrom's. "So, I must wait until they return?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Chrom answered. "I've already prepared every document we have in the Royal Archives regarding the gate on Outrealm Island, but I'm not sure how much sense you'll be able to make of them without Miriel."

"Why not?" Walter asked, almost indignant. "I am an accomplished mage in my own right."

"I've seen that myself," Chrom replied, his tone placating, "but I believe magic works differently in your world than it does ours. In Ylisse, no one has discovered a way to cast ice spells, or to use healing spells without the crystals inside of a healing staff. But you cast an ice spell on the gateway when you were angry, and you mentioned that you didn't need a staff for healing."

Walter didn't respond for a second. He hadn't considered that possibility. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands of differences between this world and his own, and not just magical. "Some mages in my world use staves as catalysts for all manner of spells, not just healing, but they are not necessary," Walter responded after a few seconds of silence. "…If I cannot work on this myself then allow me to accompany you to Regna Ferox."

"I would be glad to have you along," Chrom answered curiously, "but are you sure? They may return while we're gone, delaying your return home."

"Or they may not," Walter countered, "and I will be here, going mad with impatience and imposing on your family further. I would rather repay your hospitality by assisting where I can."

"Allowing you to stay here is no trouble at all, Walter," Chrom assured him, "but if you really wish to go, then I will allow it. We leave in the morning, get some rest tonight." With that, the Prince turned around and headed back toward the castle.

Walter sighed and walked back into the barracks. _It seems fate itself conspires against me,_ he thought wryly as he replaced the practice mace on a rack in the armory. He then returned to his room, absently returning the greetings he got from the few Shepherds who were still awake, and closed the door behind him. The room he'd been given was a small room, barely large enough to fit the bed and dresser, let alone the armor rack that he'd asked to have brought. It was large enough for his purposes, he figured as he began the arduous process of removing his armor.

After twenty minutes, his armor sat neatly on the rack. He stood in his blue tunic, adorned at the edges of the sleeves and hem with imagery of lions, the heraldry of House Grant. He had cleaned it since the Altar of Nowart, but it was still tattered and stained. He stripped out of it and donned his night clothes, obtained by courtesy of Prince Chrom (who'd stated they were his father's old clothes, and they were about the same size), and crawled into bed. As he drifted off, his thoughts, as always, were on the state of Ecclesia, and his desire to return home.

000

Several hours past noon the next day, the Shepherds were well on the road to Regna Ferox. They had departed shortly before dawn, groggy and bleary eyed, but the lovely scenery of springtime Ylisse and the warm air had quickly woken them up. There was a pleasant breeze going, and Walter tried to focus on that, instead of the lummoxes he was marching next to.

Walter had found himself in the back of the column after their lunchtime break, walking next to Virion and Vaike. The two had found common ground, despite their wildly different origins: women. And so they had talked of women, and what they would like to do to them, for the past two hours. Walter's patience was wearing thin.

"I'm tellin' ya, ya stuffy ol' dandy," Vaike was insisting, "Ain't nothing better than resting your head in a woman's 'bosom' after you give her some o' the ol 'rapier', as you put it."

"Au contraire," Virion countered smugly, "it is a known fact that ze most important factor in a lady's appearance is having a shapely posterior. Sir Walter," Virion stated suddenly, startling Walter. "Zis impasse must be broken, and in what better way than to ask a man from another world? A truth must be universal, if it is shared across worlds, must it not?"

Walter gritted his teeth in frustration. It had gotten out after Outrealm Island, as he knew it would, that he was from another world, but most of the Shepherds had been polite about not mentioning it. He gave Virion the most honest answer he could. "In Ecclesia, the Church apprehends philanderers, adulterers, or any other sexual deviant, and castrates them, before nailing them to a cross." Which was almost completely true; the Church hadn't crucified anyone but the most sever heretics in over a decade, but it used to be quite common to crucify adulterers. Castration was still the standard punishment, however.

It had the reaction Walter was going for, however; Virion's face paled and he coughed. "Well then… zis Church of yours sounds rather…severe."

"Damn," Vaike whistled. "That's a little much just for keepin' warm on a cold night, doncha think?"

Walter grinned. "It was rarely enforced among the lower classes, due to the prevalence of it, but among the High Houses of Ecclesia?" Walter chuckled. "Virion would have been crucified before his eighteenth year."

Vaike got a good laugh at that, while Virion sputtered indignantly. "I will have you know," he began haughtily, "I have never impugned any House's reputation, nor soiled a lady's honor!"

"Not fer the lack o' tryin', I bet," Vaike managed to squeeze past his laughing. Virion simply muttered something unintelligible. After Vaike had calmed down, he asked Walter about his mace, having never seen one used before, and the two began talking about their respective weapons. Virion eventually joined in on this conversation, and after a while Walter found himself thinking that perhaps these two were not so bad after all. As long as they kept the topic away from women. There was only one woman in Walter's life, but she had long since passed from the world.

The levity was interrupted, however, by a call from the front. A call to arms. The three of them ran toward the front of the column, where the rest of the Shepherds had now congregated. Walter cursed under his breath as they looked down from the hilltop they all stood on.

At lunchtime, Chrom had spoken of taking shelter at an Ylissean Army checkpoint near a river for the night. They had arrived at the checkpoint, but it had been destroyed. There were several human bodies laying about the field, just short of the bridge over the river, their corpses marred by blade and arrow. More corpses lay near the fort, lying close to each other near the entrance. A dozen soldiers in total, all dead. Walter could quickly tell what had happened. The patrol had been caught off guard, and slaughtered. Their attackers had quickly moved onto the fort before the troops stationed there could coordinate, then-

"Chrom!" Walter shouted. "Movement, near the fort!"

The Shepherds quickly drew their weapons, but lowered them when they saw two people exit the fort. The first was a woman that Walter guessed had seen maybe twenty-five winters, with dull red hair, wearing black robes and an oversized, pointed hat. A red book was tucked under her arm, and she was chatting animatedly to the second person. The second person was a young, green-haired man who was in the same "barely an adult" age range as most of the Shepherds, and wore green-painted cavalier's armor, an iron longsword strapped to his waist.

"Stahl!" Chrom called out. "Miriel!" The two figures seemed to be startled for a second, but they quickly regained their composure and hurried over. Within a minute they had reached the others.

"Prince Chrom!" Stahl declared, saluting. "We didn't expect to see you here, sir. We thought you would be closer to the southern coast, or would have returned to Ylisstol by now."

"I could say the same of you," Chrom replied. "Why didn't you return with the soldiers?"

"Uh, yeah, about that," Stahl said sheepishly. "I would have written a letter to explain, but we didn't have any parchment. Besides Miriel's spellbook, but-"

"If I have told you once," Miriel interrupted, "I have told you one thousand times, the pages of my tomes and textbooks are not to be used for surplus parchment on which to compose irrelevant communications, Stahl." She then turned to Chrom. "Our deepest and most contrite apologies, my liege, but there were several extenuating circumstances that compelled us to delay our recrudescence. Upon arriving at the bandit's refuge, a small cavern in the Plegian mountains, we discovered that an unknown party had assailed the location prior to our own ingress. The bandits were cadaverous to the last."

The Shepherds were silent for a moment at the deluge of verbiosity, before Chrom sheepishly cleared his throat. "Uh, perhaps Stahl should explain what happened?"

"Right," Stahl said, as Miriel adopted a look of refined disappointment. "We arrived at the bandit stronghold, but they were all already dead," he summarized.

"Yes, Captain Phila told me as much," Chrom replied. "Why did you not return, though? And how did you end up all the way out here? I sent you to the Plegian border."

"Rather than conclude the mission in such an anticlimactic manner," Miriel butted in again, "I felt compelled to investigate the scene of the battle. I ascertained that there were no more or less than five combatants, who-"

"There were five people," Stahl cut her off, earning him an angry glare from Miriel. "They destroyed almost thirty bandits on their own."

"That's…unlikely," Frederick spoke up. "Even any five of us would be hard pressed to handle thirty men on our own."

"Indeed," Miriel responded, "However, several of the cadavers were disfigured by incredibly efficacious magic or completely bisected by sheer kinetic force, implying that-"

"Whoever did it was incredibly strong," Stahl summarized. Miriel just gave a strangled groan of irritation, before sighing and remaining silent. "The bodies were absolutely ravaged. We didn't know who they were, and Miriel thought they could potentially pose a threat to the halidom, so we decided to pursue them. We sent the soldiers back so they didn't slow us down. Judging from those bandits, they wouldn't have been able to do much to those fighters anyway."

"Wouldn't confronting people powerful enough to beat six-to-one odds be incredibly dangerous for two people, though?" Robin asked.

"Yes," Stahl replied, shooting Robin a curious glance, "however, Miriel determined that none of them were mounted, which gave us the option of fleeing on horseback. So we tracked them up the side of the mountain range until we hit the White River, then along the river to here, the Northroad crossing."

"I see," Chrom answered absently, staring out across the field. "What happened here?"

"Some sort of undead creatures, sir," Stahl replied nervously. "We happened across them near the Plegian mountains. Stupid, but fast and strong, and dissolve into some sort of strange smoke when they die, leaving only their armor and weapons behind. We recognized the signs of battle with them when we got here."

"The Risen are in Plegia as well?" Chrom asked. "Well, that rules out Plegians as the cause of them…We encountered these creatures as well, on our own hunt. The Council has named them 'Risen'." He grew silent, staring out across the field. "If the Risen won here, why did they withdraw?"

"They didn't win, sir," Stahl answered. "Our mystery fighters eliminated them. Similar signs of battle to what we saw at the bandit cave litter the field down there. Mangled weapons and armor, massive scarring of the earth, it all points to them."

Chrom hummed, before sighing. "I won't leave these men for carrion, even if we are pressed for time. Shepherds, make graves for these bodies."

000

Walter grunted as Frederick and he placed the last of the slain soldiers in their graves. It had taken almost until nightfall, but they had finally gotten the last of them. As Stahl and Robin shoveled the dirt back into the grave, Walter walked over toward the fort and leaned against the wall, wiping the sweat from his forehead and staring out at the remains of the battlefield. The bodies were gone, of course, but the discarded equipment of the Risen still was strewn about in frightening numbers. Walter guessed they had been outnumbered by at least two to one, possibly more. The grass was still slick with blood, and several spots sported large scorch marks and jagged cracks in the earth, which Miriel had indicated were evidence of their mystery fighters. Walter felt something in the back of his mind nagging him about those scars and scorches, but he ignored it. Instead, he opted to brood on the task they'd just completed.

This wasn't the first mass grave he'd dug before. It wasn't even the first time he had done it in armor. But there was something about burying soldiers that just never got easier for him. Especially when so many of them were younger than him now, closer to his son's age than his own.

His son, Thomas. Walter hadn't thought of him in a while now. It made him feel like a terrible father…but was that really the untrue? After all, he had neglected the boy for much of his time after becoming an Emissary, and topped it off by sending him off to war with Kendal at the age of twelve. He hadn't seen Thomas with Kendal when they had fought at the Altar of Nowart; had he been arrested and executed for Walter's crimes? Had he recused himself from battle? Or had he simply been killed, quickly thrown into an unmarked grave like the poor sods he'd just buried, before the Ecclesian Army moved on?

It would do him no good to dwell on this, he decided, and began to walk back toward the rest of the column, when he heard a horse neighing nearby, in the copse of trees near the fort. It couldn't be one of the cavaliers' horses. Fearing a potential cavalry ambush from the woods, he quietly made his way to the other side of the fort, but his breath was taken away when he saw the horse.

It was no regular horse; it was stark white, a white so bright that it practically shone. A blue saddle was fastened to it, but neither its beauty nor its obviously Ylissean origins are what grabbed his attention. No, what immediately grabbed Walter's attention was the pair of wings affixed to the horse's back. _A flying horse?_ Walter thought in surprise. _What is this thing?_ Even from twenty paces away, Walter could feel this creature positively radiating magic, similar to holy magic, if he had to guess.

So transfixed was he, that he almost jumped out of his skin when someone spoke behind him. "They don't have pegasi in Bersia, I take it?" Chrom said to them, adopting a grin as he saw Walter start.

"What is a pegasi?" Walter asked reverently, staring in awe at the creature.

"A pegasus is a…well, a flying horse, as you probably guessed," Chrom replied with a small measure of amusement. "They live primarily in Ylisse, and some regions of Valm, a continent across the sea to the west of us. A few roost in the Plegian mountains from time to time, but they don't stay long. I'm sure you can feel the magic emanating from it; they use magic in conjunction with their wings to fly. They're incredibly resilient to magic, so Ylisse uses them for anti-mage and scouting purposes. It's hard for scrying mages to detect them, and they're quick, fast, and quiet. They make ideal scouts and flanking units."

"Amazing," Walter stated quietly. "How do you suppose this one came to be here?"

"Likely the fort's scout was the owner of this fine creature," Chrom said, as he began walking toward it slowly. As he grew too near, though, the pegasus reared up in fear, kicking wildly. Walter noticed that its left foreleg was matted with red; the pegasus was injured.

"Gods!" Chrom shouted. "I only want to help you! Stop!" But the pegasus would hear nothing of it, and continued bucking and flailing violently. Chrom couldn't even get within arm's reach of the pegasus.

"Captain!" someone shouted behind Walter. He turned around to see Sumia standing just behind him. "Get away from it, you're scaring her!"

Chrom quickly obliged and backed off. Slowly, the pegasus calmed down, though it watched Chrom and Walter warily.

Sumia then began walking forward herself. "Stay back, Sumia, the beast is crazed!" Chrom exclaimed. Sumia ignored him, however, keeping eye contact with the pegasus. Despite her increasing proximity, the pegasus did not react violently, though it did twitch nervously. Soon enough, Sumia was close enough to touch it. And touch it she did, gently and slowly, as not to startle it. She gently petted its nose, and the pegasus leaned into it happily.

"Wow," Chrom stated dumbly. "You calmed it right down. That's amazing!"

"I guess I just have a way with animals," Sumia replied bemusedly, as she bent down to inspect the Pegasus' leg. "She's too injured to fly, Captain, but I can't just leave her here. Go on ahead without me."

"Are you sure, Sumia?" Chrom replied worriedly. A bit more worriedly than Walter thought was really necessary. She was a grown woman, and armed, after all. "We can make time to wait, I'm sure it won't take that long." Walter frowned in disapproval. _Lovestruck kids,_ he thought with a small measure of amusement. _We cannot spare the time to wait for her to treat a stray animal._

"I'm sure, Captain," Sumia replied confidently. "Every minute that you spend here is another that Ylisse is in danger. Once she's flying again, we'll have no trouble catching up to you. I did need to find a new mount too. I think this is fate."

"As long as you're sure," Chrom replied uneasily, before turning to Walter. "Well, you heard her. Let's continue on to Regna Ferox."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 **The Longfort**

"F-Frederick, I'm f-freezing!" Lissa stammered through her chattering teeth.

"Stand beside my horse, milady," Frederick said sympathetically. "She'll shelter you from the wind."

Two days ago they had left the Northroad Crossing, and were now hitting the northern edge of Ylisse. According to Chrom and Frederick, the Feroxi border wasn't far away, just beyond the forest they were walking in now. Despite the fact that they hadn't even reached Regna Ferox yet, there was moderate snowfall and blisteringly cold wind. Most of the Shepherds, being from the warm southern half of Ylisse, were suffering. Robin appeared to be suffering especially so, having appropriated a spare fur from the cart to go over his heavy cloak, but still shivering violently. Vaike was in similar straits, due to his lack of clothing, but he adamantly refused to dress warmer, proudly declaring that his "manliness" would keep the cold at bay. Walter was familiar with this climate; it matched Ecclesia's own perfectly. It was a little colder than Ecclesia would be during the late spring, as it was here in Ylisse, but he still took no issue with the cold.

To Walter's irritation, he could hardly understand Miriel. He took pride in his education, and considered himself an intelligent man, but that woman's vocabulary and rate of speech left even him at a loss. From what he could decipher, however, his requests to discuss the Outrealm Gate were met with "I can do nothing without the proper research materials, so we must wait until we return to Ylisstol." For Walter, this mission couldn't go by fast enough.

The Shepherds rounded a bend in the forest road, and were taken aback at the sight revealed to them. Stretched to the left and right, as far as the eye could see, was a tremendous stone wall. It was relatively low, only being thrice Walter's own height, but it was clearly sturdy, and even from here he could see dozens of men patrolling the length of it. There was only one visible gatehouse from here, though there were doubtlessly others farther along.

"Gods," Robin gasped from beside him. "When you said that the Longfort was a wall, Chrom, I expected a wooden palisade or something. But this is comparable to any castle wall!"

"It is a relic from a less friendly time in our past," Chrom replied. "The Feroxi Khans ordered the construction of the wall shortly after the Schism. They leveled an entire mountain to create this wall, or so the legend says. They then shaped the remnant of that mountain into the Coliseum, which serves as their capital."

"I don't know about that," Robin said, "but it surely took a lot of stone to build it."

"Stone is one thing the Feroxi have no shortage of," Frederick interjected. "The region is largely mountainous. Their primary exports are wild game, furs, ores, and quarry stone."

"Standing here talking about Regna Ferox won't earn the Khan's support against Plegia and the Risen," Chrom said. "Come, let us see about gaining passage."

The Shepherds began making their way toward the gate, but something was wrong. The second a sentry spotted them, the soldiers brandished their weapons. Furthermore, Walter noticed that the gate he had seen earlier was in fact destroyed; the gate remained closed, but there was a tremendous hole blasted through the iron and wood, large enough for two men to walk through shoulder to shoulder. Walter could see a pair of sappers quickly retreating from the hole, as the other sentries prepared for battle. A pair of axe wielders took place on the opposite side of the gate.

"Halt, brigands!" a voice cried from atop the wall. Walter looked up to see a young woman with thin features and stark blonde hair standing atop the wall, wearing an oversized set of steel plate armor and carrying a wicked looking lance. "I've lancers at the ready!"

"Brigands?" Chrom shouted back, confused. "We are no brigands! I am Prince Chrom of Ylisse! We come seeking audience with the Khans!"

"You're the Prince of Ylisse?" Raimi replied, disbelief evident on her face. "Ha! And I'm the bloody queen of Valm! Impersonating royalty is a capital offense!"

"Why do you seek conflict?" Walter cut in. "Your gate is barely defensible, and your soldiers are already panicked. A battle would be lost as soon as it was had."

The woman shot Walter a glare, before sighing. "Smart, for a bandit. Fine, have it your way. Send your 'Prince', with one person as escort, to parley. The rest will remain outside until I discern the truth of your words." With that, the commander disappeared from the top of the wall.

"Frederick, with me," Chrom stated. "Robin, don't make any hostile moves, but if they attack, be ready. We're going to parley with this commander."

"Are you sure that's wise, Chrom?" Robin asked uneasily. "No matter how ready we are, if things go south, we'll not be likely to reach you in time."

"We've little choice in the matter, Robin," Chrom replied. "I'd rather avoid a fight if we can, especially with border guards just doing their jobs."

"Alright, Chrom" Robin said, tone still wary. "Just be careful." With that, the Prince and Frederick proceeded through the opening in the gate, under the wary eye of the Feroxi Guard.

They were gone for at least half an hour before Walter heard the beating of wings. Turning around, he was surprised to see Sumia approaching, on the back of the pegasus she had tended to at the Northroad Crossing.

"So sorry I'm late," Sumia replied apologetically, "I was in such a rush to catch up that I didn't check her bindings properly, and they came loose in the air. Where's the Captain?"

"At parley with the Feroxi Guard," Robin replied tensely. His eyes had scarcely left the wall since Chrom had entered.

"What!?" Sumia exclaimed in shock. "He just went in alone?"

"Not alone," Walter replied. "Sir Frederick was with him."

"Still, that's just asking for an ambush," Sumia said worriedly. "How long have they been in there."

"About half an hour," Robin replied. "If they're not out within ten minutes we're going in after them."

That would prove to be unnecessary, however; Chrom and Frederick appeared at the top of the wall, as if on cue, and motioned for the rest of the Shepherds to join them. The Shepherds hurried through the ruined gate, where Chrom and Frederick were waiting with the Feroxi commander on the other side.

"We've secured passage to the Coliseum," Chrom stated as the last Shepherd, Virion, trundled through the gate. "From there, we will speak with the Khan. The Khan's apparently been facing similar problems with bandits, so that should make an alliance easier to argue for."

"Understood," Robin stated, before turning to the commander. "What happened to your gate?"

"The last band of brigands who came through," the commander replied tersely.

"Brigands with siege rams?" Robin wondered aloud. "That's strange."

"No," Chrom replied. "According to Commander Raimi, it was one man who did it. Blasted the gate apart with some fire magic she hadn't seen before. With them was one blue haired, masked swordsman."

"Marth," Robin concluded. "He was here?"

"Yes, your friend 'Marth' came through with four others," Raimi supplied. "Some dandy, no doubt their leader, two knights, and a barbarian. One of the knights was a woman, and a foul mouthed one at that. It was the barbarian who broke my damn gate. Also incapacitated every guard who tried to stop him single-handedly. My men swear he isn't human."

"Incapacitated?" Walter asked, narrowing his eyes. He knew of only one man who could destroy a reinforced gate and tackle a garrison on his own, only one man that those who faced him swore wasn't human, but that was impossible. "This barbarian, he didn't kill any of them?"

"I heard your friend Marth ask him not to," Raimi rolled her eyes. "Two of the men are paralyzed from him throwing them into the wall, however, so he might as well have," she fumed.

Chrom shot Walter a curious glance. Walter's suspicion must have leaked into his tone. He then turned to Raimi. "I have two healers with me, Sir Walter and my sister, Lissa. Would you like them to look at your injured soldiers?"

"Could you?" Raimi asked hopefully. "That would be very kind of you, Prince Chrom. They're good men, and don't deserve that fate. You two," she said, pointing to a pair of Feroxi Guards, "Escort the princess and this knight to the wounded."

As Walter was led away into the barracks, his brow was furrowed in confusion and worry. If the barbarian and dandy were who he thought they were, then things would take a turn for the worse soon. But who were the two knights accompanying them? And why would Marth, who demonstrated an interest in saving the world when they had met, be working with someone whose only interest was death and destruction? _It must be a coincidence_ Walter told himself as he examined one of the injured soldiers and began casting a healing spell. _A simple coincidence is all._

000

The Shepherds' march through the unforgiving Feroxi tundra took a little over a day. The only trees that flourished were pine trees, and they were covered in a light layer of snow at even this time of year. The scenery was familiar to Walter, losing much of the natural wonder that was sparked in the rest of the Shepherds, and he had spent much of his journey praying that he was wrong about the identity of the man who assaulted the Longfort.

His train of thought crawled to a halt, however, when the Shepherds laid eyes on the Coliseum, the capital of Regna Ferox. Chrom's tale of it being a hollowed-out mountain did not seem so far-fetched, now that he laid eyes on it; the Coliseum itself was larger than Ylisstol, made of smooth stone with few visible cracks. Walter's experienced eye could pick out hundreds of arrow slits along the half of the wall he could see, and saw the tips of catapults poking out from the top of the absurdly tall wall. Surrounding the Coliseum was a veritable sea of shops and smithies, with thousands of people walking to and fro, conducting their business in the cold Feroxi air.

"By the gods," Robin gasped to Walter's left. "I thought you were joking about it being a hollowed out mountain."

"Even if it isn't," Chrom replied, equally breathless, "it surely took a mountain's worth of stone to build it."

"Tourists always ooh and ah over the Coliseum," Raimi chuckled from beside them. "Come, I will lead you to the Khan's audience chambers."

And so the Shepherds set off into the town surrounding the Coliseum, then into the Coliseum itself. Walter nodded in approval; the Ferox seemed to value practicality and strength above decoration. There was little in the way of it, and what little there was, was modest. Walter lost track of time as they were lead up and around the Coliseum's walls, passing hundreds of people in the four-man-wide corridors. As they took so many twists and turns that even he lost track of their direction, Walter concluded that whoever might aim to take the Coliseum by force would be on a fool's errand.

Eventually Raimi led them through a set of double doors, into the Khan's audience chamber. The chamber was made of the rough-hewn stone that made up the rest of the Coliseum, with a modest blue-grey carpet running down the center. A stone throne sat at the opposite end of the chamber, with a great flag hanging above it; a pair of wolf heads, mirroring each other across a diagonal line from the top left to bottom right. Across the walls hung weapons, armor, skins, and various other trophies of hunt and battle.

"Please remain here. I will go notify the Khan of your presence," Raimi requested politely. She then turned and walked off through one side door of the chamber, leaving the Shepherds standing in the hall alone.

"The Khan isn't here?" Robin asked, confused. "You'd think that the ruler of the nation would have to be in the throne room during the day."

"She's off training, I'd wager," Chrom answered. "The people of Regna Ferox prefer battle to politics. Or rather, battle _is_ their politics."

"Is that so?" Robin said, before adopting a devilish grin. "I can see him now: a giant of a man of unparalleled thew, his chest a thick forest of hair…" he trailed off, sniggering to himself.

"Am I now?" A voice asked from behind Robin. A distinctly _feminine_ voice. "Please, do go on."

Walter laughed quietly to himself as Robin's face turned roughly the color of Sully's armor as he turned around sheepishly. Standing in the doorway Raimi had just left through was a tan-skinned, fair-haired woman scarcely few years younger than Walter, wearing brilliant red and silver armor, hefting a great sword on her shoulder. Walter could see the haft of an axe peeking over her shoulder, and her entire arm was covered in a segmented kite shield.

"You're the-?" Chrom began incredulously, before coughing and restarting in a more formal tone. "That is, the Khan, I presume?"

"Yeah, one of 'em," The Khan responded, clearly not caring about how formal her tone sounded. "Khan Flavia, I rule Eastern Ferox."

"Is it true that Plegian soldiers masked as brigands have been trying to cross your border?" Chrom asked concernedly.

"Yes, we found documents prove as much on the mangled corpse of one of their captains," Flavia spat as she strolled past Chrom and sat in the throne, setting her greatsword in a holster to the side of it. "They must see some benefit in souring the relation between our two nations."

"Damn them!" Chrom cursed, before his face paled. "Sorry, that was indelicately put, Your Grace."

Flavia, however, just laughed. "Damn them, and damn delicacy!" Flavia shouted, grinning. "Here in Regna Ferox, we appreciate plain speech."

"If that's the case, you should have a word with your damn border guards," Chrom grumbled without thinking.

Flavia just laughed more, however. "Oh, I like you, Prince. Now, tell me, what brings you to our lovely nation? Surely it is the warm weather or gently rolling plains?"

Chrom chuckled briefly, before his face became serious. "Sadly, nothing as pleasant as a vacation. Ylisse seeks an alliance with Regna Ferox, to combat these Plegian brigands and a new threat, the Risen."

"I assume you're referring to the undead monstrosities that have been harassing our villagers?" Flavia asked. Chrom nodded. "Risen's a good name for them, I suppose. They got more than they bargained for though; almost every Feroxi citizen knows how to use a weapon, regardless of occupation. I would be glad to approve of this alliance, but sadly, that is beyond my power."

"What?" Chrom exclaimed, confused. "But I thought you were the Khan?"

" _One_ of the Khans, I said," Flavia corrected. "There are two Khans in Regna Ferox. Every five years or so, we hold a tournament to decide who rules the nation in truth. I lost the last tournament, so the West-Khan is in charge."

"So we are to receive no aid at all?" Chrom lamented. Walter shot Robin a look, who returned it: _So we'll just go beg the West-Khan for aid._ They concluded without speaking.

"Not if you give up so damn easy!" Flavia barked. "But, it looks like you arrived at a good time. The next tournament is in three days, and I'm in need of a champion. You'll do nicely, if the rumors coming from Ylisse about you Shepherds are worth anything."

"I would have thought that foreigners would have no place in Feroxi traditions?" Chrom said.

"On the contrary," Flavia responded, "our tournaments are fought exclusively by outsiders. If the Khans themselves, or our comrades and kin, participated in the tournament, the nation would be rife with blood feuds and dead Khans! Although I've never heard of foreign royalty being among the champions…"

"If that's what it takes to secure this alliance, then that's what we'll do." Chrom stated resolutely. Robin simply groaned in exasperation. Walter shared his feelings. Why would they risk dying when they could simply petition the West Khan?

"Excellent!" Flavia exclaimed gladly. "Be warned. The West Khan's found a new champion this year. The man managed to beat his old champion in seconds, he's a formidable swordsman."

"He shall be defeated by Ylisse's necessity," Chrom answered, undeterred.

"Oh, yes, I really do like you!" Flavia cheered, her grin almost splitting her face in half. "I do hope you survive the tournament." She turned to Raimi, who was standing back at the door she had entered through. "Find our honored guests some rooms in the guest wing." Raimi nodded, and Flavia turned back to them. "The rules are simple. There can be up to five warriors fighting, with their leader being designated champion. The match ends when the champion either yields or is dead; the rest are simply there to make things exciting. We haven't had a death in years," she added hastily when she saw the Shepherds alarmed expressions, "although Basilio's old champion sure did a number on my champion last year. He still hasn't regained use of his sword arm." Walter was alarmed at this; the old champion was that powerful, and the new one was even stronger? "But enough of that. Go, rest, and prepare for the tournament!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **Two Falchions**

Walter finished his prayer and regained his feet with a determined sigh. The three days had passed by far too quickly for Walter's liking, and here they were now, preparing to participate in some barbaric bloodletting sport. The preparation room was dimly lit, and smelled horribly of blood and rot. Chrom had left the selection of the four soldiers fighting with him up to Robin, and he had picked well. He had volunteered himself, saying "someone has to keep Chrom's dumb ideas from killing him," which had earned a few laughs from the Shepherds He had selected Frederick as well, mostly because Frederick refused to remain behind. He was unmounted for this event, as animals were not allowed within the arena, but he had assured them he was just as capable of fighting on foot. Virion had been the next choice, his skill with a bow earning him a spot. The last warrior had been Walter. Robin had reasoned that having a healer would be beneficial, but was unwilling to risk both members of the royal family at once if it wasn't necessary. Walter agreed with that reasoning.

Walter detested the idea of bloodletting for sport, however. In Ecclesia, wasting the lives of skilled soldiers in such a manner when the Dark Legion was an ever-present threat was unthinkable. He would do his part, however; the Shepherds had done well by him, and he would repay their kindness to the best of his ability.

"For the record," Robin stated, breaking the tense silence, "this is all Chrom's fault. So he has to buy drinks for anyone who gets injured today."

Chrom laughed. "Fair enough. Are you all ready?"

Nobody could answer however, as a long horn call rang.

"I guess we don't have a choice now," Robin sighed as the great double-doors leading into the arena began to open. The five warriors took their positions behind it as the sounds of the cheering crowd hit them full force, disorienting them for a second.

Walter was impressed with the size of the arena, at least, if not its purpose. It was a large circle, several hundred feet wide, with a large tiled circle in the center, with the outer edge of the arena being sand. The walls encircling them were several dozen feet high; ensuring no stray arrows from the combatants would easily reach the crowd.

"Chrom, look!" Robin shouted, snapping Walter back to the present.

"I see him," Chrom stated grimly. Walter followed their gaze to their opponents, and was taken aback. In the center of the enemy combatants was Marth, the swordsman from the forest. But what shocked him more were the soldiers accompanying him. He recognized them, all of them, and his worst fears were confirmed.

"Regnier," Walter growled. The Lord of Hexter stood to Marth's right, holding his greatsword loosely, his posture stoic, his features unreadable. To Regnier's right stood a deathly pale man with oily black hair, wearing black and white finery, wielding a large broadsword. One edge of the broadsword, instead of being a smooth blade, was a series of metal spikes resembling teeth. It was Leinhart, Regnier's right hand and the Prince of Vellond. Walter was not surprised that that lackey had followed his master to this world.

What did surprise him, however, were the two soldiers standing to Marth's left. The first he recognized as General Gerald of Hironeiden. He did a double take when he first noticed him; this was impossible. Gerald had personally told him, at the camp north of the Altar of Destruction, that Regnier had murdered his adoptive father. He had learned after escaping Hexter that he had also killed Rupert, one of Gerald's adjutants and his adopted brother, as well. There was no way he would willingly cooperate with Regnier, yet here he was, standing mere feet from the man who murdered his family, and not trying to kill him.

The other soldier was Gerald's remaining adjutant, Ellen. _Half-Elf whore, apostate traitor,_ Walter mentally spat. Ellen had originally been an officer in the Ecclesian Army, earning herself quite a reputation at the annexation of Arein, only for her own adjutant to turn on her, revealing her Half-Elf heritage. She had escaped Ecclesia once the Court had issued a warrant for her arrest, murdering several soldiers in the process, and joined the Hironeiden Army. She was a beautiful woman, he had to admit, with luscious black hair, beautiful features, and curves in all the right places that her rather revealing armor made no effort to hide, but he would never sully himself by attempting to court such filth. Subhumans deserved naught but the end of a sword, as far as Walter was concerned.

"Impossible," Walter stated aloud. Ellen was as close to Rupert as Gerald was, yet they were both aiding his murderer? What nonsense was this?

"Do you know them?" Chrom asked Walter.

"Indeed," Walter stated. "All four of them are warriors from my own world. Leinhart, the Prince of Vellond. Regnier, the Lord of Hexter. Gerald, the General of the Hironeiden Army, and his adjutant Ellen. They should not be here, let alone working together. Regnier murdered a dear friend of Gerald and Ellen's."

"Perhaps there is something you don't know," Chrom suggested. "Perhaps…whoa, he looks angry."

Walter turned his attention back to them, and sure enough, Gerald was gesticulating angry in the Shepherds' direction. Ellen was actually physically holding his shoulder to keep him from charging across the arena.

"He is a man prone to rage," Walter responded gravely. "Whatever I did at the Altar of Nowart surely cost Hironeiden greatly. He likely has a grudge against me. A grudge not unwarranted," he concluded quietly, almost to himself.

"Right then," Robin piped up. "Guess you get to fight him, then. Virion, you like flirting, go flirt with this 'Ellen' character." Virion nodded slyly, and Walter could only hope Virion would leave the battlefield with his life, and his sensitive parts, intact. "Frederick, I want you fighting the guy who's underdressed for the weather."

"Be careful," Walter warned Frederick. "He is far more powerful than he appears. I faced him in battle only once, and it is an experience I would prefer never to repeat." Frederick simply nodded in response, his features turning grim.

"I'll take on the dandy with the sadistic looking sword," Robin continued. "That leaves Chrom to face Marth, champion against champion. Are you all ready?" Each of the Shepherds signaled affirmative. Seconds later, the horn call rang again, and Ellen released Gerald's shoulder. The man made a man sprint across the field, heading straight toward Walter, not even paying the others any heed. With that, both sides charged, and met in the center of the arena.

As the others clashed against their opponents, Chrom came to a stop several paces from Marth. The young man's features were unreadable.

"Marth?" he asked seriously. "A word, before we begin?" Marth did not respond. Chrom frowned. "Alright then," he shrugged, drawing the divine blade, Falchion. Its silver blade occasionally gave off wisps of blue flame, and Chrom held the golden and red hilt steadily. "We'll let our swords speak for us. I cannot afford to hold back, but I promise not to shame you."

Marth smiled. "I never expected such youthful arrogance," he replied, his tone amused. "We will see who shames whom." He then mirrored Chrom's stance, drawing his own sword. Chrom's face paled as he got his first good look at the blade, however. He recognized that blade. It was an exact copy of his own. A copy of Falchion, a blade unique in both origin and ability. The only difference was that the teardrop shaped hole in the hilt near the blade shone gently with light.

"Where did you get that?" Chrom asked. Marth did not respond, his silence maddening. "There's no way…" he trailed off; Marth clearly wasn't interested in talking about it. Roaring, he leapt forward, bringing his sword down in a devastating cleave. Marth dodged smoothly sideways, swinging his own blade. Chrom barely managed to recover in time to block it, and the two began a deadly dance between their blades, blue sparks ringing out with each clash. Chrom felt a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach as they fought, however. Marth matched him not only in blade, but in fighting style as well. He would have dismissed it as impossible, as his fighting style was taught only to the members of House Ylisse… but he held another copy of Falchion, which was impossible, and claimed to know the future, which was also impossible, while accompanying four people from another world who were all supposed to hate each other, which should have also been impossible.

Yet, it was happening anyway. Could this really be Marth, the Hero-King of old?

"Tell me, who taught you to fight like that?" Chrom grunted as he parried a blow from Marth, only to miss his counter swing as Marth dodged backward, seeming to know his next move every time. It was beginning to grate on Chrom's patience, truth be told.

"My father!" Marth shouted, before mimicking the very same leaping strike Chrom had attempted at the start. Chrom dodged, and the two exchanged blows again.

Chrom was not only becoming frustrated, he was becoming tired. He needed to end this duel, and fast. Marth also appeared to be tiring though; all he needed to do was hold out, wait for an opening…There! As Marth made a sloppy stab, Chrom dodged to the side and slammed his own blade down on Marth's. Marth's balance was thrown off, and he stumbled forward. Chrom then grabbed him by the shoulder, reared back his head, and rammed his skull into Marth's own. Dazed, Marth fell dumbly to the ground on his back, blade forgotten. Chrom stumbled over, slightly dazed himself, and placed his sword at the base of Marth's neck.

"Do you yield?" Chrom asked seriously.

Marth didn't respond for a second, before giving a low laugh. "Disappointing, if not unsurprising," he mused, before nodding. As Chrom lowered his blade, the horn rang, signaling the end of the duel. Despite that, however, he still heard angry shouting. Turning to the source, his face paled, and he began running toward them.

000

Frederick grimaced as Regnier's blade clashed off of his shield. The man swung with such force that Frederick initially got the impression that he had been attacked by an entire stone wall.

"Marth has asked that we not kill you," Regnier stated simply. Frederick felt goosebumps grow on his skin; the man's voice radiated pure, cold, apathetic power.

"I don't need your pity, barbarian," Frederick spat as he shuffled backwards, regaining a proper stance. Regnier simply stood there, waiting for Frederick to be ready. _He's toying with me,_ Frederick realized indignantly.

"It is not pity," Regnier responded bluntly. "There are practical reasons to keep you all alive." Regnier then stepped forward, swinging his blade again. Frederick leapt back, narrowly avoiding the great arc of the blade.

"And those reasons would be…?" Frederick asked condescendingly. Regnier did not respond. "Perhaps that you could not kill us if you wished to?"

Regnier simply scoffed, before thrusting the blade of his greatsword into the ground. Frederick winced as he heard the stone crack and scrape against the blade as it forced its way into the ground. "Hardly, human," Regnier said, his voice almost mirthful as he looked around at the other combatants. Frederick kept his eyes on the brute however; he would not be so easily distracted. "I have faced warriors far more skilled than any of you, and yet I remain standing, unscathed. You are all naught but children. I've no need to fear any of you."

"You say 'human' as if you are not," Frederick noted, disturbed. The man's features were concealed behind the mask and he held his body straight and stoic, giving nothing away.

"Perhaps I was, once," Regnier mused. "A long, long time ago. Now I am something…else." His gaze turned back to Frederick, and his tone dropped to ice. "Would you like a demonstration?" without waiting for an answer, however, the man suddenly roared. Frederick was startled as the man's very body caught flame, yet somehow didn't burn. As Frederick stared in shock at the man, he could finally see a set of blazing orange eyes glaring from beneath the cowl.

Frederick was unprepared for what happened next. First, Regnier was standing there, staring at Frederick with his sword still in the ground. The next, the blade was in midswing, flame wreathing it, and Regnier had closed the distance. Frederick barely managed to get his shield in the way, and gasped in agony as it outright shattered from the force, and the flame caught on his armor. Cursing, he backpedalled, desperately tearing at the bindings on his vambraces.

"Well done," Regnier mocked as Frederick finally freed his arm from the red-hot steel. Frederick winced as he noticed the burns on his skin. "Most soldiers aren't even quick enough to get their shield up. You are above-average."

"Don't patronize me, monster," Frederick growled, raising his sword one handed. "Your last breath approaches!" With that he lunged forward swinging his blade at Regnier.

But at the last second, his target seemed to disappear. Before he could even decide to look for him, he felt a strong force behind him, felt the very air warping to its power. The force quickly coalesced and exploded, dazing Frederick. He felt a strange sense of vertigo, and vaguely registered the fact that not one part of him was touching the ground, before he slammed into something hard. The arena wall, he absently realized. How did he get all the way over there? They had been at least thirty feet away. His vision swam as he fought to remain conscious.

Before he could even begin to regain his bearings, an iron hand gripped him around his throat, gasping, he dropped his sword and vainly tried to force the hand away from his neck.

"Remember this, Ylissean," Regnier's voice said. His vision was still too dazed to see him properly. "There will come a day when we find ourselves on the opposite ends of the battlefield once more. But next time, there will be no Marth to save you. On that day, swallow your worthless pride and yield. As I said, it is more practical to leave you alive. "

Frederick struggled to respond, but between his dizziness and the hand on his throat, he could say nothing. Just as the edges of his vision started to turn black, he distantly registered the arena's horn sounding. He was released then, and fell to the ground, gasping. As he gulped greedily at the air, he heard Regnier walk away.

Just this once, Frederick would ignore his pride and not pursue him. But there would be a next time, oh yes, and Frederick would not be defeated so easily again.

000

Virion swaggered confidently at his target, drawing his bow as he went. She was indeed a fine woman, he concluded. Such shapely legs, such ample...breastplate, such remarkable curves. Fate surely smiled on him this day.

"What brings a beauty such as you to ze field of battle?" Virion purred as she walked into earshot, drawing his longbow. "One such as you need wage only love! Tell me, my dear, what is your name?"

"Can it, you philandering idiot," the woman barked. _Even her voice is beautiful. Beautiful, but with a hard edge to it, not unlike a finely crafted blade,_ he mused. "We're here to fight, so let's do it. If I knock you out of the fight quick enough, I might be able to stop Gerald from murdering your friend."

"So confident," Virion responded smugly. "But you face no 'philandering idiot' here. I am Virion, the Archest of Archers! Again, my good lady, might I have your name?"

"If it will shut you up, fine," she groaned. "My name is Ellen, and I'm married by the way, so quit flirting. And try not to die when I stab you, we promised Marth we wouldn't kill you."

"You will need to reach me first, my dear," Virion smirked. With that, he leapt backwards, nocking an arrow and drawing back the string as he moved. He fired as he landed, and watched in admiration as she leaned to the left deftly, the arrow sailing harmlessly over her shoulder. "My my, someone is quite ze skilled warrior!" He shouted cheerily as he continued firing. On each shot, however, she either raised her buckler and deflected the arrow, or simply moved aside. Virion's smug grin slowly morphed into a grimace of concentration as he began loosing arrows faster and faster, to no avail. He felt a bead of sweat run down his neck as he reached for his quiver again, only to find it empty.

"Well well," he stated, trying to maintain his bravado as he sheathed his bow and drew his own rapier, "It appears that you are indeed quite ze talented soldier. Come now, let us duel honorably!"

Ellen, however, simply smirked and sheathed her rapier. Virion's jaw dropped as the strange protrusions he had noted on her shield began moving. Within two seconds, a medium sized bow had appeared, mounted on the shield.

"My turn," she said, grinning cruelly, drawing three arrows at once from a quiver on the back of her waist. Virion's eyes went wide, and he scrambled away as she began firing.

Whatever her bow was designed from, it was incredibly strong. Despite being only half the length of his own weapon, the projectiles shot past so quickly Virion could hardly track them. It was all Virion could do to keep ahead of the deadly projectiles, fired three, four, even five at a time, covering the distance between them almost faster than he could move. Almost.

"Hold still, you pompous lecher!" Ellen barked in frustration. "These arrows aren't cheap!"

Virion didn't respond, he was still struggling not to get shot. He shouted in pain, however, as Ellen landed one arrow in his left shoulder out of her last volley. Not wasting any time, she collapsed her bow, drew her rapier once more, and began stalking toward Virion.

" _Now_ we can 'duel honorably'," Ellen purred as she sauntered over. Gritting his teeth, Virion snapped off the shaft of the arrow and struggled to stand straight, holding his rapier aloft in the most dignified manner he could.

When Ellen was ten feet away, however, she darted forward so fast that she was practically a blur. Virion yelped and jumped backwards, slashing his rapier wildly. The two blades connected, and they began dueling in earnest. Virion once again found himself hard pressed to keep up, and every time he thought he would have an opening, the woman would simply dart back out of range with that same inhuman speed, before darting back in and beginning it all again.

"What in the devil are you?" Virion growled, dropping all pretense of his flirtatious behavior. "No human can move this quickly!" he shouted in frustration as she darted out of his reach yet again.

"True," Ellen said, smirking smugly. "I'm a Half-Elf." Before Virion could question precisely what a "Half-Elf" was, he grunted in pain. She had darted forward, again, and Virion dully noted the tip of her rapier buried in his abdomen.

"It appears…" he coughed in pain, "that I am not quite the Archest of Archers." He gave a strangled half-laugh, before collapsing to his knees. He grimaced in pain as the tip of her rapier withdrew from his stomach.

Ellen stood critically over him for a moment. "Yeah, he should survive that," she stated nonchalantly. The arena's horn then rang. Virion heard her curse then hurry away as he desperately clutched his freely bleeding wound.

000

"I'm Robin," Robin greeted his opponent. "Tactician of the Shepherds. You are?"

"Ah, it is so nice to see a human who has manners," the well-dressed man sighed contentedly. "I am Leinhart, Prince of…" he chuckled. "I suppose I am not, anymore. I am simply Regnier's humble servant." He leveled his blade at Robin. "Your friend, Marth, asked me not to kill any of you. I endeavor to be a man of my word, but there are no promises if I become thirsty," he said, grinning sadistically.

Robin didn't really want to know what the man was referring to. He doubted it was pleasant. He leveled his own weapon, a simple iron sword, and said "It's awfully arrogant to claim victory before the battle's even started."

Leinhart's response was to simply disappear in a cloud of purple smoke. Robin started, then began looking wildly around. Left, right, behind, above, he was nowhere.

"So, human," a voice said in his ear. Robin spun around, swinging his sword, but hit nothing but air. "How much do you know about your Bersian companion? This 'Walter' that King Gerald spent so much time cursing?"

Robin lowered his sword. If Leinhart wanted to run his mouth, fine. That would allow him to figure out how to dispel his invisibility. "As much as he's told us. He destroyed an ancient artifact and got transported here almost two weeks ago."

"That's it?" Leinhart responded, sounding disappointed, this time from Robin's left. He glanced that way, but as he expected, Leinhart wasn't there "Aside from the curious inconsistency about the period of time, that is rather…bland. He didn't tell you how he obtained the Ancient Heart? Who led him to it? Everything he did to get it?"

"Let me guess," Robin said wryly, "it was you who led him to it?"

Leinhart scoffed, this time above Robin. "Hardly. I would not do something as stupid as turning over such a powerful artifact to the humans." Robin wondered why he referred to humans as if they were something else, but shook his head. He needed to figure out how to get this man to show himself, wondering about his quirks was distracting from that. "But it would be soooo rude of me to deprive Walter of his chance to explain himself. After all, I only heard about events after the fact from Lord Regnier. I am sure Walter's account would be more accurate."

"What makes you think it would be such an interesting story?" Robin asked, curious despite himself.

"Your little militia seems to be so very… moral," Leinhart responded, this time everywhere at once, "and I would personally love to be present when you find out that the noble Sir Walter is a depraved murderer. Gerald spent so very much of his time cursing the man for his crimes…though I personally don't see where he has room to talk, with the devastation he wrought upon Orc villages on the way to the Holy Ground."

"And why should I take your word for it?" Robin asked. He thought he knew how Leinhart was concealing himself now, and gathered energy for basic wind spell in his left hand. He knew the incantations by heart now; he hardly needed the spell book in his bag.

"Oh, I'm not saying you should," Leinhart countered. "I am telling you to ask him yourself. You humans are all oh-so-honorable, Ecclesian knights especially so. I doubt he will have the intelligence to lie to your face."

Robin decided that the time to act was now. He released his spell, and a strong gust of wind burst from his hand, aimed toward where he had last seen Leinhart. Sure enough, Leinhart reappeared exactly where he had disappeared, grunting in pain.

"Checkmate," Robin stated smugly. He was right; Leinhart was using magic to project his voice in random directions. Few would think to check the very spot they'd seen him last.

"Oh, you think you won, have you human?" Leinhart asked, his voice becoming low and dangerous as he smoothed down his ruffled clothing. "We shall see about that." With that, he launched himself at Robin with inhuman speed, bringing his sword down viciously.

Robin immediately found himself pressed to keep up. Leinhart, while appearing to be some dandy noble, was much like Virion; he used his bluster as a cover for genuine skill. Robin was sure he would have fallen for it, and been lured into a sense of false security, if he hadn't already had so much experience with Virion. And if he wasn't so naturally cautious.

Experience or no, he was still struggling to keep up with Leinhart's vicious assault. The man was a demon, swinging his massive steel broadsword as easily as Robin did his iron longsword, despite the fact that there had to be three times as much metal in Leinhart's weapon. As Leinhart brought his blade down, Robin cast an unfocused fire spell at him, which he nimbly sidestepped. The casting left him unable to parry the blow, however and the serrated edge of the blade bit into his upper left arm. Leinhart then ripped it out, and Robin screamed in agony as he felt a large chunk of muscle go with it.

"Ah, so you wish to incorporate magic into our duel?" Leinhart said mockingly as Robin struggled to stay upright. "Very well." With that, he snapped his fingers, and Robin was blinded.

Darkness. That was all Robin could see in every direction. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face; he wasn't even sure he hadn't gone completely blind or if this was some illusion.

He shouted in agony as he felt Leinhart's toothed blade drag across his back. He whirled unsteadily, swinging his blade haphazardly, but met nothing but air. A few seconds later, it happened again, on his arm this time. And again, and again, and again, each time hitting a different part of his body, and each time Robin failed to strike back.

"Enough!" he shouted, casting another wind spell in a circle around him. Within seconds, his vision had cleared; it appeared Leinhart had blinded him with some sort of black mist, which was now dispersing. Leinhart himself was looking smug, leaning lazily on his sword as if it were a cane. Robin grimaced in revulsion as Leinhart ran his finger along the blade of his weapon, and then licked Robin's own blood off of his fingers.

Robin fought the urge to vomit as Leinhart smacked his lips. "Ah, it has been so long since I've had human blood," he groaned ecstatically. "I have missed it. Perhaps I could drink some more…" he trailed off as he grinned madly at Robin. Robin desperately held his blade up, even though his heavily cut arms screamed in protest. Just as Leinhart started walking toward him, however, a horn call rang out.

"Damn," Leinhart cursed. "It appears playtime is over, human," he sighed dramatically. "It has been fun though, we should do this again sometime!" He disappeared in another cloud of purple smoke. Robin prepared himself to fight again, but sighed in relief as Leinhart reappeared across the arena, next to Regnier. Robin frowned in concern when he saw Frederick slumped weakly against the wall. He was trying feebly to get up, so at least he was still alive. Their opponents began walking toward the exit, and Robin looked around to see who had won.

Marth had disappeared. Somehow Robin wasn't surprised. Virion was clutching a wound to his abdomen, but still alive as Ellen walked smugly away from him. Chrom was running towards… _oh crap_.

Robin quickly took off across the arena. Even though the horn had sounded, Gerald had apparently ignored it, and now straddled Walter, furiously pummeling him with his fists. Chrom was on his way over there to break it up, but Walter was no longer moving. Robin followed, to make sure Gerald didn't turn his fury on Chrom next.

As he ran, though, Leinhart's accusing words hung in his mind. What had Walter done to inspire such hatred? It couldn't be just destroying that "Ancient Heart" that he'd mentioned before. As Robin watched Chrom tackle Gerald off of Walter, he could tell that there was more to this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 **Unsatisfying Victory**

Walter raised his shield as Gerald neared, and winced as the greatsword connected.

"General Gerald," Walter greeted, stepping backward and lowering his mace, "I am glad you are here."

"You won't be in a few minutes, you murdering bastard," Gerald growled, his face twisted in rage. Walter frowned after a second; Gerald had quite a few wrinkles now, and his formerly blonde hair carried long streaks of grey. Gerald charged again, but Walter sidestepped him. He neglected to take advantage of his opponent's exposed back, instead retreating several more steps.

"Everything I did was in accordance with the Lord's will," Walter stated stoically. "I sought only to cleanse Bersia of evil; my conscience rests easy."

"You know," Gerald seethed, whirling around and holding his sword in a low guard, "that's one thing I don't miss from Ecclesia. Your sanctimonious, self-righteous blathering wore on my nerves."

Walter's face paled as Gerald began stalking slowly toward him, and mirrored his steps backwards. "What do you mean? Ecclesia has fallen?"

Gerald shook his head. "Not exactly. It's a part of Hironeiden now, under my rule." _So, Gerald is now the King of Hironeiden…most of the nobility must have died to Encablossa._ "Why haven't you aged?" Gerald suddenly asked, stopping his steady advance.

Walter frowned even further. "It has only been a little over a week," Walter stated, nonplussed. "Why would I be aged?" _And why do you look many winters older?_

"Because it has been thirty years since you almost destroyed Bersia," Gerald replied gravely.

Walter almost dropped his mace in shock. _Thirty…years…_ he repeated to himself numbly. _So I have not traveled only across worlds, but across time as well._ _Thomas…Thomas will be my age,_ he realized, almost laughing at the thought. _The Lord works in mysterious ways._

"That doesn't matter anymore, though," Gerald said with a shrug, leveling his sword. "In the name of Hironeiden, I sentence you to death for your crimes against Bersia."

"Crimes?" Walter said with a scoff. "Says the heretic who openly associates with the Dark Legion. You have no room to talk."

"Like you never associated with Rithrin," Gerald said, almost laughing. "Even more reason I'm glad to be rid of the Ecclesian Patriarchy; you were not only self righteous, but hypocrites as well."

Walter's blood froze. _He knows._ "What else do you know?" Walter asked quietly.

"Everything," Gerald replied simply, before shifting back into a low guard. "And I do mean everything. From the moment you and the Patriarch received that 'oracle' of the Lord, to the destruction of the Ancient Heart. _Everything._ "

Walter took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Then there will be no dissuading you," he concluded resignedly. "You would sentence me to death without trial? I demand trial by combat! We shall let the Lord decide whether I am truly guilty of wrongdoing." Walter then settled into his own ready stance, shield held high and mace ready to strike.

"Fine by me," Gerald spat, before he roared, and charged. Walter raised his shield to catch Gerald's greatsword, and the metal rang as the sword collided with it. As Gerald recoiled, Walter drew back with his shield arm before shoving forward, buffeting Gerald and forcing him back. Walter then stepped forward, swinging his mace in a vicious overhead blow. Gerald managed to recover, however, and knocked the head of the mace aside with the greater mass of his own weapon. Gerald then lunged towards Walter shoulder first, forcing him to stumble back much like Gerald had previously. Rather than bringing his sword to bear, like Walter had expected, he instead swung his gauntleted fist around the edge of Walter's shield and punched Walter in the face.

Walter felt a part of his jaw break under the sheer force of the hit, and staggered again. Gerald swung his sword, aiming for Walter's head, but Walter clumsily ducked and lashed out haphazardly at Gerald's knee with his mace. Gerald hopped back to avoid it, giving Walter time to recover.

Before Walter could press forward, however, a piercing pain bit into the area above his right elbow. Glaring down at his arm, he saw an arrow protruding from the gap between his couter and rerebrace. He turned his glare from the likeliest direction the arrow had come from, and witnessed Virion scrambling desperately away from Ellen's deadly marksmanship.

A stray arrow, then, Walter concluded. One aimed with uncanny luck at one of the few vulnerable points in his armor, but unintentional nonetheless. It would hinder his ability to fight, but he could do it. He absently snapped off the majority of the arrow shaft with the edge of his shield. He would have to remove it later, which would be excruciatingly painful, but he couldn't afford to have the arrow shaft snag on anything.

Remembering the fight at hand, Walter turned to see Gerald bearing down on him, features twisted into a snarl and sword raised high. Walter raised his shield between them, angling it slightly. Instead of Gerald's sword bouncing off, like Gerald was likely expecting, it instead slid off of the surface of the shield, pointed to Walter's left. Gerald stumbled, having overcommitted to the strike, and Walter saw his chance. As he moved to swing his mace, however, his muscles spasmed in agony; the arrowhead had ground against something inside of his arm, a nerve or some such thing. His fingers involuntarily relaxed, and the mace dropped from his grip. Instinctively, Walter's other hand shot to his elbow.

This left him open, however. As Walter just started recovering, a tremendous weight crashed into him; Gerald had shoulder-charged him. Walter stumbled and lost his footing, crashing to the stone floor of the arena. Within seconds, Gerald was on top of him, sword forgotten, and the King of Hironeiden began swinging.

Walter could do nothing. Every attempt to move his right arm ended in a spasm of pain, and his left arm was still encumbered by his shield, and therefore useless at such extremely close range. Walter could do nothing, except fight to remain conscious as Gerald's mailed fists crashed into his face over and over and over again. It was a fight that was steadily becoming even more of a losing battle; Walter's eyes began to swell so much that he could hardly see. His ears began ringing, and what little noise got through was distorted, muted. He coughed instinctively as blood began streaming into his lungs. Soon, he became too out of it to even register what was happening.

Then, suddenly, the barrage stopped. He could no longer see anything; his eyes were swollen completely shut. He vaguely registered several voices yelling, seemingly at each other, before he lost consciousness.

000

Walter awoke with a cry of agony. Several sets of hands restrained him, so he could do nothing as _whatever_ was in his right arm continued forcing its way in there, and all he could see was white. Thankfully, after several seconds, the pain abated, the white in his vision faded, then a pleasant soothing sensation ran through his arm. _Healing magic,_ he realized.

He then opened his eyes. They were no longer swollen shut. He felt no pain anymore; stiff all over his face, and in his now-healed arm, but he was uninjured. He saw only the ceiling, though, and moved his gaze elsewhere.

He was in an infirmary. Lissa was there, tending to several nasty looking cuts across Robin's arms and torso. Frederick sat on a cot, unarmored, with a Feroxi healer bandaging his shield arm. Walter could see a lot of burnt tissue. Virion also laid on a cot, unconscious, another healer holding a staff over his abdomen, a bright light emanating from it. Healing magic. The only one uninjured appeared to be Chrom, who was standing by Walter's bedside now, a grim expression on his face.

"I have already spoken with Khan Flavia," Chrom began. "She is marshalling the Feroxi Army as we speak. We won… though if it were not for the tournament's rules, I fear we wouldn't have. How are you feeling?"

"Like an enraged king used my head as a punching bag," Walter responded stiffly. His entire jaw seemed to not want to move. He still managed a small smile, though.

"Yes, we had to pull…Gerald, was it?" Walter nodded. "We had to pull him off of you. He was quite angry."

"And he had every right to be," Walter conceded. He briefly thought of telling Chrom the entire story, but… _No,_ Walter told himself. _Not now. Perhaps when we return to Ylisse…I have a feeling I will be here for a long time,_ he realized sadly. _Perhaps even another thirty years,_ he continued wryly.

"Beg pardon?" Chrom asked. "Thirty years for what?"

Walter hadn't even realized he'd spoken. "General…well, King Gerald, now, told me that I have been gone from Bersia for thirty years."

"Gods," Chrom gasped. "Your trip here must have propelled you through time as well…I take it your home was saved, though?"

"Yes," Walter said, relief flooding through him. _My mistakes did not destroy all._ "Bersia is safe…though I doubt I will ever be able to return." Walter felt a foreign sensation in the corner of his eye. Wetness, he realized. Tears.

"What?" Chrom asked, shocked. "Why not?"

Walter growled in frustration. "Because Gerald, who wishes me dead, is King of all human realms. Ecclesia presumably collapsed during Encablossa's attack, and was absorbed into Hironeiden." Walter felt the wetness in his eyes grow. Such a glorious Empire, a monument to Lord's benevolence and mankind's accomplishments, now gone. Absorbed by secular Hironeiden, lover of lesser races and apostate capital of Western Bersia. "With Gerald ruling the human realms, I could go nowhere if I returned. I will not stoop so low as to seek refuge with the subhuman races. So I am exiled here." He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. He had not shed tears since his wife's untimely death, and he would not shed them again.

"I…I am sorry, Walter," Chrom said gently, placing a hand on Walter's shoulder. "That is a terrible fate."

Walter finally opened his eyes. The tears had not fallen, nor would they. "Indeed it is, Prince Chrom," Walter sighed. "But I know it is safe now. That my mistakes did not cost me all that I held dear. Even if I can never see it again, I know it still stands." _Even if it stands in the hands of heretics and apostates._ _But that is beyond my control,_ he thought with a mental sigh, _it is time now to turn my eyes to what I can control._ Walter had no direction. Bersia was safe. He was exiled here in Ylisse. What use would this world have for an old soldier? _Wait, that's it!_

Walter forced himself to sit up, and he looked Chrom in the eyes. "Is my offer to join your Shepherds still valid, Prince Chrom?" Walter asked seriously.

"It was never meant to be revoked," Chrom stated, smiling. "In truth, I already considered you one of us. I am sure the rest of us do as well."

"Good," Walter replied. "Then I would formally accept your offer."

"Welcome aboard, Sir Walter of Ecclesia." Chrom said with a grin, extending his hand.

"I suppose I am no longer a knight at all, let alone of Ecclesia," Walter replied with a grimace. "I doubt Gerald would recognize me as a noble of Ecclesia if I asked. So now, I am simply Walter."

"Very well, Walter," Chrom said, still smiling. "Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we will return to Ylisse."

Walter laid back down and stared at the ceiling. It would be odd, taking orders from a boy barely older than his own son, but he was a good prince. He would make a fine ruler, were his sister not the Exalt. Perhaps, under him, Walter could finally do some honest good in his life.

000

Robin was avoiding him. Walter was certain of it. He had said nary a word to Walter during the day in the infirmary, though he had put it down to sulking after Leinhart had thrashed him. In truth, all but Chrom had been outright embarrassed by their opponents, and the return march was accordingly somber. The Shepherds were more skilled than the average soldier, and most of them had let that go to their heads. To be so brutally reminded that they still had room to improve was a sobering thought for many of them. But then Robin had been distancing himself from Walter at meal times and during the march, the entire three days. And now that they were back in Ylisse, he was nowhere to be found. They had just gotten back an hour ago, for God's sake! Where could he have gone!? He had run into their new recruit, Lon'qu, but he had not seen the tactician either. Lon'qu was also a man of few words, Walter noticed, and curiously averse to women. He had formerly been Basilio's champion, from what he'd heard, but had been offered to the Shepherds as a prize for winning the tournament. Lon'qu didn't seem to mind, and thus was now a member of the Shepherds.

Walter cursed. What had he done wrong? This sudden aversion of Robin's made no sense. All Walter wanted was to consult with the tactician of his new liege, possibly see if he could learn anything from Bersian strategies or vice versa, but the man was nowhere to be found. Had he said something wrong?

As Walter stormed through Castle Ylisstol, searching high and low for Robin, he almost ran headlong into Chrom around a corner.

"Apologies, Prince Chrom," Walter quickly stated. "You wouldn't happen to have seen your tactician, would you? I wished to discuss Bersian strategy with him. With Regnier and Gerald being in this world, he may have need of it."

"An excellent idea, Walter," Chrom responded with a small smile, "but I have not seen him since we returned." Walter frowned. "However, I did wish to speak to you."

"How may I serve, milord?" Walter asked with a salute.

"Gods, please don't start that," Chrom stated with a laugh. "You may be an official Shepherd now, but the same rules still apply. No formalities. But as to what you can do…" he pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to Walter. Walter unfurled it, and his experienced eyes quickly deciphered it.

"…you fear Plegia intends to go to war soon." It was not a question.

"Yes," Chrom replied worriedly. "Their army has been sighted massing at ideal invasion points, and bandit activity is increasing. They're up to something."

"What do you ask of me?" Walter asked.

"Themis is vulnerable," Chrom replied. "It's a province on the Plegian border, well known for its plentiful crops and strong horses. Most Ylissean cavalry mounts are bred there. Do you remember Maribelle?" Walter grimaced and nodded. Chrom gave a short laugh. "Well, she's the Duke's daughter, and through her, her father has requested the Shepherds to eliminate a particularly violent group of bandits."

"So when do we leave?" Walter asked.

"'We' don't," Chrom answered. "I want the Shepherds here at the castle. If war does break out, we will be sorely needed here. But if I send you with a contingent of soldiers," Chrom continued, "then we can address both of those issues."

"I am honored that you would put faith in me," Walter said with a humble bow, "but why?"

"You're a seasoned veteran," Chrom reasoned, "with experience leading line soldiers. Frederick would be my first choice normally, but he hasn't seen an actual war. You have. If war breaks out while you're in Themis, hunting these bandits, you will be more able to react properly."

"I understand," Walter said after a second of silence. "What troops are you assigning to me?"

"Duke Themis will likely be furnishing the bulk of your troops," Chrom answered, "but I will be sending twenty lancers, ten archers, and ten cavaliers with you. Is that acceptable?"

"Perfectly, Prince Chrom," Walter stated. "When do I leave?"

"Well," Chrom stated, rubbing the back of his head, "Maribelle's already here, and rather impatient from having to wait for us to come back. So, I'd advise grabbing your belongings and going now."

Walter groaned. He would have to deal with that petulant brat the entire trip to Themis. Chrom was openly grinning now. _He thinks this is funny!?_ "Very well, Prince Chrom. I will take my leave."

000

"Sir Walter," Maribelle greeted him stiffly in the main hall of the castle, "in Ylisse, it is considered rude to keep a lady waiting."

"I am no 'Sir' anymore, Lady Maribelle," Walter responded, equally stiffly. But regardless of his personal feelings towards her, he was a commoner now. A commoner with high quality armor and an education, but a commoner nonetheless. As such, he knew well the obligations of the lower class to the noble class, the foremost being respect…or at the very least submission. "I am exiled from my homeland. I am naught but a commoner now, and here to humbly serve."

Maribelle looked to be taken aback, before her features twisted into a cold grin. "Well, that is a shame. Though perhaps now you will be able to demonstrate for me the best qualities of the lower classes?"

"I only hope I can meet your expectations, milady," Walter ground out. "Shall we be on our way?"

"Yes, let us depart. Do you ride?" she asked.

"Horses?" Maribelle gave a condescending eye-roll and nodded _I have a feeling that they do not have Storm Riders here, if such a question prompts such a smug response_. "I have not rode for many years, milady," Walter responded, "but I know how to, yes."

"Very good," Maribelle said with a happy smile. "Fetch yourself a horse from the stables, and meet me by the castle gates."

"Is there a particular reason you wish me to ride, milady?" Walter asked. Normally such a gesture would be reserved for fellow noblemen, at least in Ecclesia. Or in cases where haste was required; was Themis in deeper trouble than they'd let on?

"The simple fact that I ordered you to do so should be sufficient reasoning, Walter," Maribelle snapped. "Go. Now."

"Aye, milady," Walter replied, before quickly walking away. It didn't take him long to find a horse and convince the stable hand to let him take it, though he wished it had. It was a chestnut-coated mare, with a plain leather saddle. According to the stable hand, its last owner had died in a Risen ambush on the outskirts of one of the eastern cities. _Let us hope that she bears me to better fortune than her former master._ He quickly mounted, the long-practiced movements returning to him with ease, and he slowly rode the mare back to Maribelle.

"Well, it certainly took you long enough," she snapped. "Prince Chrom has the troops he is sending with you down by the main gate. Come." With that, she spurred her horse forward, and Walter reluctantly followed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **Crossed Lines**

"Alright soldiers," Walter barked at the forty men in front of them from atop his horse. "Do any here have an issue with my command?" Silence. "I will not punish you for speaking out; if any of you have problems, I would rather get them out of the way." More silence. "I will take that as a no," Walter sighed. "Who are the commanders of these units?"

At that, the soldiers simply looked at each other, confused. Maribelle was shooting him an amused smirk.

"Uh, milord," one of the lancers spoke up, confused, "what are you on about?"

Walter cocked his head. "Do none of these companies have commanders?"

"You would be the commander, milord," The lancer replied.

Walter shook his head as he realized what was going on; the Ylissean army did not divide their ranks up into separate units. They simply assigned a certain number of soldiers to a commander, with no lower subordinate officers. It was likely that there was a named successor in case of the commander's demise, but nothing beyond that. It was the system that Bersia had so recently rid itself of, after too many battles had been lost due to unclear communications among the ranks and over-centralization of command.

That would not do.

"Alright then," he barked. "I want the cavalier, archer, and lancer that have each served House Ylisse the longest!" The soldiers shot each other more confused looks. "Now!" As if shocked by lightning magic they all jumped into action. Within a minute, three men stood before Walter. The lancer that had originally spoken up, a man of roughly thirty winters with silver hair and a large scar on his jaw; the archer a man of roughly twenty five winters with straw-blonde hair and a wiry beard; and the cavalier a burly, black haired man with severe features.

"Your names?" Walter asked

"Michael" the archer answered.

"Graeme," the cavalier said.

"Byron," the lancer replied.

"Congratulations gentleman," Walter said authoritatively, "You have just been given unofficial command of your troops for the duration of this mission. I shall refer to you as adjutants."

The three simply looked at each other dumbly, then back at Walter, "Er, what do you mean by that, milord?" Byron asked nervously.

"I will give general orders," Walter summarized. "'Attack this enemy, move to this location, that sort of thing. You three officers will determine the best way to accomplish them. I cannot be everywhere at once, and you may see something I do not and be able to select a better way. For example, if I order Graeme to flank the enemy, unless I specify otherwise, he may pick which direction to flank from, and whether to charge through the ranks or simply engage them in melee. If I order the archers to fire, Michael gives the commands on precisely when to fire. If I order Byron to move to a location, he may decide which formation to use to get there."

"Pardon me for speaking out of turn, milord," Byron spoke up, "but I'm not entirely sure that that's a good idea."

"Tell me," Walter replied, "How long have you served House Ylisse?"

"Twelve years," Byron stated proudly. "And never a dull moment."

Walter chuckled. "I assume that scar on your jaw is not from a farmer's sickle?"

"Aye milord, you would be right," Byron responded. "I got this from a worthless Plegian bandit. Got me good with that axe of his, but I got him better." He laughed.

"You have survived for twelve years as a soldier," Walter continued with a small grin at the soldier's humor, "having seen combat, yet you believe you are not capable of discerning the best way of following your orders?" Byron did not answer, though a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "And you, Michael, how long have you served?"

"Seven years, milord," Michael answered. "Been shot once for each of 'em too. Exceptin' this year's arrow, I haven't gotten that one yet." He gave a short, barking laugh

"And you, Graeme?" Walter said, turning to the cavalier.

"Nine, milord," Graeme responded. "Though half of one of them years was spent laid up in a bed after getting run through by two separate Plegian cavaliers, if you don't feel like counting that, heh."

"Then you have all served long enough to know your way around a battle," Walter summarized, "and are therefore capable of leading other men into battle. A word of warning, though," he said, his voice turning low. "Your command defers to mine at all times. If I order you to charge, you will charge. You may decide _how_ you charge, but you will charge all the same. Am I understood?" a chorus of "yes milord' greeted his ears. "And the rest of you, you will listen to these three men, and to me. Am I understood?" A larger chorus of "yes milord". "Alright! Marching formation is as follows: Lancer company in front, in four rows of five. Archers in the center, in two rows of five. Cavaliers at the rear, in a wedge formation. Move out!" Again, like they were shocked, the soldiers hurried into the marching formation he had described. He took his place shortly in front of the infantry unit, and Maribelle followed, now a bit unsure about what was happening. "Forward!" Walter shouted, and he spurred his horse forward. Maribelle followed, and the soldiers behind them began marching.

"Tell me, Walter," Maribelle asked, her tone not quite as hostile as it normally was, "Why did you appoint commoners as unit commanders? Is this common practice in your homeland?"

"You ask that as if we had a choice, milady," Walter responded quietly.

Maribelle didn't respond for a second. "Is your world really so consumed by war?"

"Mankind has fought against the Dark Legion for centuries," Walter responded gravely. "Perhaps not always in open conflict, but we have resisted their taint for so long that few remember a time when we were not at war, and none now live who remember the days when they were not a threat."

"I see," Maribelle stated quietly. She shot a glance back at the soldiers. "Do you believe your choices in commanders will be sufficient?"

"They were the best I could pick on short notice," Walter answered, "but yes, I believe they are capable. I would not have selected them otherwise." Walter turned his gaze out to the horizon. "How long should it take for us to reach Themis, milady?"

"A day and a half," Maribelle responded. "We should arrive by nightfall on the morrow."

"Very well," Walter said. The two lapsed into silence, and for many hours did not speak.

Walter spent that time contemplating the military structure of Ylisse. It could be assumed that Plegia and Regna Ferox followed similar military doctrine. If war was imminent, any battles would likely be messy, disorganized, and very bloody. He resolved to speak with Prince Chrom about this when he returned home.

 _Home?_ Walter asked himself. _No, not quite. Not yet._

After several hours of riding in silence, the sun became low in the sky, and the soldiers stopped to make tent. Walter noted, with some approval, that Maribelle was more than capable, and willing, to set up her own tent. At least he didn't have to wait on her…and at least she didn't _make_ him wait on her. He set up his own near the center of camp, as he had when he was still an officer in the Ecclesian military. His tent was much smaller now, though. Barely large enough to contain him lying down, but that was all it really needed to be, wasn't it?

As he settled in for the night, though, he couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that settled over him. Something was going to happen, his gut told him. Something bad, and soon.

000

"Welcome to Themis, gentlemen," Maribelle called out. "You shall never see a finer province in all of Ylisse, barring the capital."

Walter couldn't help but agree. The city of Themis stretched out below them, a magnificent, moderately sized city surrounded by a respectably sized wall that appeared to be well maintained. Gently rolling plains stretched out beyond the walls, occupied by tidy, organized rows of crops. Farther out, Walter could see several pastures with _hundreds_ of horses between them. Walter could see now why Themis was so important to Ylisse's cavalry.

"Come now," Maribelle said happily. "Let us go see my father." She led the procession down the hill, past the bountiful farms, and through the main gate of the city. Like the farms outside and the wall itself, the city of Themis was well maintained, very pleasant. Maribelle led them through the cobbled streets, up a large hill to a very large, wealthy looking estate surrounded by a low wall, with a few guards visible patrolling the length of it. Along the western wall, on the outside, sat a short, squat building that Walter assumed were the local guard barracks. Maribelle led them through the front gates and up the front lawn. She directed the soldiers to stand by, as servants opened the front door of the manor, and Maribelle led the two of them inside.

"Maribelle, sweetheart!" a boisterous voice boomed. "I am glad you are home, my dear!" Walter's gaze snapped up to see the person addressing them.

He was a thin faced, large nosed man in his late fifties, wearing a fine red tunic and cloak His silver hair was slicked back neatly, and a large smile showed several practically shining teeth. What little of his mouth could be seen through his bushy mustache and beard, at any rate.

"Father!" Maribelle shouted, running up the stairs. Walter followed reaching the top just as Maribelle released her father from an embrace.

"Father, this is Sir- I mean Walter," Maribelle said, gesturing to Walter. Walter gave a humble bow at the waist. "He is a new addition to the Shepherds."

"'Sir'? I have never heard of this man," Duke Themis stated, confused. "Where do you hail from, Sir Walter?"

"It is… a long story," Walter said uneasily. "But I was…stripped of my status. I am simply Walter now, milord."

"Oh, poppycock!" Duke Themis barked, before laughing. "Those who are truly noble do not simply lose their nobility! But you are a Shepherd, so you must have at least some noble characteristics." Maribelle gave a most unladylike snort of derision at that.

"I am flattered that you would think so, milord," Walter answered politely. "But perhaps we could get down to the reason for my visit?"

"Ah, yes," Duke Themis stated, frowning severely. "Bloody bandits. My people simply wish to live in peace, yet these Plegian dogs feel the need to harass them. Come, follow me." Duke Themis led them down a hallway of white marble floors and brilliantly polished oak walls, before opening a thick door at the end and guiding them in. Walter concluded that this must be the man's study. Duke Themis then ushered them over to his desk, where Walter saw a detailed map of what must have been the duchy.

"Now, our scouts have guessed their hideout to be one of two places," Duke Themis said, before pointing to two separate spots on the map. "They are on opposite sides of the city, and offer the only real shelter. As you can see, both are within a day's march of the city, so they should be fairly easy to deal with."

"Is there any accurate guess on the bandits' numbers?" Walter asked.

"The reports are conflicting," Duke Themis replied. "Anywhere from a couple dozen to well over one hundred. They attack at random, normally from one of those directions, but sometimes both. As always, I tell the capital that the Plegian Army must be aiding them, yet every time I do, the capital does nothing!" Duke Themis barked, before he wiped his face with a blue hankerchief and sighed. "Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. I truly admire the Exalt, she has done wonders for the halidom, but my people die and we do nothing!"

"I understand, Duke Themis," Walter empathized. "But no longer. I will cleanse these bandits from your duchy."

"That's the spirit!" Duke Themis barked, laughing. "I would go to give them their dues myself, but my bodyguard Wallace won't let me anywhere near a battlefield, ever since the last time…" he briefly pulled up the sleeve on his right arm, where Walter was shocked to find the twisted scar of a severe axe wound. "But I still got that bandit, and with my wounded hand too! Why, there I was, fighting three of them at once-"

"Father, please, we must remain on topic," Maribelle said in a long-suffering tone. Walter got the impression that her father tended to go off on tangents often.

"Quite right, my dear," Duke Themis responded cheerily, before looking back to Walter. "I will be frank, Sir Walter, I was never much of a military commander. I used to be worth my weight in a fight back in my prime, but I am long past that now. Turned into a useless old man, I have," he said with a wry laugh, while Maribelle protested heavily to his self deprecation.

"You need not worry, Duke Themis," Walter responded. "I am a veteran of many years of war and conflict. If you would permit me the use of your study for an hour or two, along with all available information on the bandits, I am confident I could come up with a strategy to rout them."

"Truly? That quickly?" Duke Themis replied, surprised. "Very well then, it's all yours! Now, we've left our brave soldiers standing around outside long enough. Maribelle, do be a dear and tell one of the servants to direct the soldiers to the barracks. I will go tell the kitchen to get dinner started." With that, the two nobles took their leave. Walter took a seat at the desk, sitting down gingerly so his armor didn't damage the chair.

Duke Themis was… different than Walter thought he would have been, especially considering who his daughter was. He was strangely light hearted, and seemed to truly care for his people. _A proper noble,_ Walter thought with approval. _I only hope Maribelle can adopt more of his attitude._ And with that thought he focused on the map and reports in front of him, determined to make good on his promise of having a solution within the hour.

000

An hour and a half later, Walter had his plan in writing. A bit late, but a sudden realization in the middle of his planning had forced him to change the plan entirely. As a servant led him into the dining hall, he handed the parchment detailing his plan to Duke Themis, before taking a seat farther down the table. Maribelle sat to her father's right, but the other three chairs at the table were empty.

Dinner, which consisted of roast duck and stewed vegetables, passed in relative silence. Not comfortable, but not awkward either. At long last, when everyone had finished, Duke Themis unfurled the parchment and began reading intently. After a moment, he raised his eyebrow and looked at Walter. "Are you sure of this, Walter?" he asked gravely.

"Absolutely," Walter responded with conviction. "There is no doubt in my mind."

"I find it hard to believe that they managed to tunnel so far, directly below the city, even." Duke Themis replied incredulously.

"It is the only explanation that accounts for everything," Walter insisted.

Upon studying the bandit reports, Walter had realized that the two prospective bandit outposts were actually _one._ They had somehow dug tunnels between both outposts, over five miles apart, even passing directly underneath Themis. They also numbered over double his own troops, meaning he had to draw upon Themis' reserves.

"This is ill news, indeed," Duke Themis said after a second of silence. He then continued reading. "If it is true, however, I do like your plan. Deploy two armies of men, staggered apart by over an hour, to catch them in a pincer movement." He then looked at the parchment again, before squinting in confusion. "But these troop movements make no sense to me," he said. "The Ylissean army does not divide itself into such small units, and the overall total of men is entirely insufficient for tackling the numbers that you believe they possess. And the maneuvering makes little sense as well. I may be no tactician, sir, but this appears to be…nonsense!"

Walter laughed. "They are commonplace tactics in my previous home," Walter assured him, "and necessary to accomplish this task without emptying your barracks entirely. I will need to speak with your Guard Captain, but I am sure he will prove reasonable."

"Hmm," Duke Themis replied contemplatively, before nodding. "Very well. If you believe this is the best way to rid my duchy of these bandits, then I will place faith in your abilities. Maribelle," he said, and his daughter looked at him attentively, "please escort Sir Walter to Captain Franklin, and have them make ready."

"As you wish, Father," Maribelle replied humbly, accepting the scroll from her father. She and Walter then stood up, and exited the dining room.

"They tunneled beneath our city?" Maribelle asked. Walter nodded in response. "That is far too clever for bandits. I don't like this."

Walter nodded. "That thought occurred to me as well, milady. There is a possibility that this is a trap. That is why I neglected to ask your father for his entire available guard contingent; we will leave at least half of your men here to defend the city."

"If it is a trap," Maribelle stated as they exited the manor, turning west to where Walter figured the guard barracks were, "then I am coming with you."

"Lady Maribelle," Walter said gravely, "that is a poor idea. We will be outnumbered, and I cannot guarantee your safety."

"Oh, bosh," Maribelle said flippantly, waving her hand in irritation. "If I desired a life of safety, I would have never joined the Shepherds, and pursued my previous ambition to become the duchy's magistrate."

"All the same, milady," Walter stated, "it would be best if you were to remain behind."

"I am going, Walter," Maribelle said coldly, glaring at him as they arrived at the door to the barracks, "and that is final. I may not be as versed in the ways of war as you are, but neither am I a helpless damsel."

Walter sighed in frustration. "Very well, milady," he conceded. "But you will be accompanying my own task force. I will not have a fellow Shepherd die on my watch."

"Your concern for my safety is noted, and I believe we have reached compromise," Maribelle said with a sickly sweet tone. "Now, let us find Captain Franklin." With that, she opened the door.

The soldiers were amidst some sort of rowdy tavern song in the barracks' common room, but the sound quickly died down as the two entered. Quickly, an elderly soldier, pushing sixty winters with stark white hair, stood up and walked over to them. He then bowed.

"Lady Maribelle," he greeted, "You honor us with your presence in our barracks."

"Indeed, Captain," Maribelle replied, "but I fear this is no social call. With me is Walter, a fellow Shepherd, whom Prince Chrom has deployed to assist us in ousting the bandit scum from our duchy."

Captain Franklin gave Walter an appraising look, before nodding. "Aye then," he said, "What's the plan then, junior?"

Walter chuckled at that; it had been many years since anybody had been old enough to call him junior. "This is the plan," he stated, handing his scroll over to the Captain. The captain then unfurled the scroll and began reading. "Clever bastards aren't they?" he mused, before frowning as he read further. He did not speak, however, until he finished his reading. He finally looked up at Walter, the frown still on his face. "I understand your plans, Walter, but they're…unconventional. Truth be told, I had to read them twice for them to start making any sense. Where in the bloody hell did you learn tactics?"

"A long way from here," Walter responded vaguely. "I assure you, they will work."

Franklin raised his eyebrow, before nodding. "I suppose we could give it a shot, then. Not much else we could do, besides deploying the entire garrison, and I'm loathe to leave the city undefended. Now, let's talk about your little command structure here."

Walter and Franklin spent the next two hours hashing out the details and assigning his more experienced men as adjutants. Finally, as night began to fall, they finished their preparations. Just as the last rays of the sun dropped over the horizon, Walter and Maribelle exited the city, sixty soldiers at their back, the forty they had arrived with and another twenty from the guards. The next wave, sixty more guards, would leave an hour after they did; leaving the remaining eighty guards of Themis at the city, in case it was attacked while they were away.

Logically speaking, Walter didn't think that the city would be attacked. When manned, it would take a full army to attack it. Still, the foreboding sensation from the previous night had returned, and Walter couldn't help but worry that this would not go well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 **The Battle of Themis**

"Go, follow them!" Walter cried as he stepped brutally on the neck of the bandit he had just knocked down. A sickening, wet crunch sounded, and the bandit ceased struggling. The bandits compatriots were fleeing yet again, the guards of Themis nipping at their heels.

The initial assault on the western bandit outpost had gone quite well, in Walter's opinion. The bandits had scattered at their arrival, disappearing into the cave at the rear of the outpost, and the Themisian Guard had followed. There had been one casualty thus far, but it was not fatal. He had been back in the fight shortly, after Maribelle had tended to his wounds. They had been underground for over an hour and a half now, chasing the fleeing bandits through the tunnels.

Little did they know, another sixty men awaited them on the other end. It would be a clean, brutal rout, and they would return to a Themis free of any significant bandit presence.

At his urging, the lancers charged forward through the tunnels. They were wide and tall enough to accommodate two men abreast, or cavalry in single file, though space was tight in that case. The tunnel had split into three shortly in. Walter had split his men as evenly between jobs as possible into groups of twenty six or so, and each had taken a separate tunnel. Walter and Maribelle lead the first group, chasing the bandits with fervor.

"I promise you, this will hurt!" Maribelle said almost sadistically, before casting a fire spell over Walter's head down the tunnel. Walter heard a faint scream of agony as the spell connected. Seconds later, the group trampled over the smoldering corpse of a bandit. Walter had been surprised to see Maribelle could use magic. Though her spells were not as powerful as Robin's or Miriel's, they were still more than enough to kill bandits.

The chase proceeded thusly, with the Themisians ferreting bandits out of their holes, until after another half-hour, Walter felt a fresh breeze. "We must be near the exit!" he shouted. "Quickly, we cannot let them escape!" _Not that they will, with our men waiting on the other end._

Within minutes, the group had found the exit to the tunnel. Within seconds, the other two groups had exited their own tunnels. They heard the clashing of steel outside; their men must have already engaged the bandits. Walter sprinted out of the tunnel, raising his mace to-

A spike of pain shot through his head as he stepped outside. He collapsed to the ground as his soldiers spilled out around him. He then heard screams of agony, and most of the soldiers around him dropped.

He gazed up blearily to see the bandits standing around him. A quick count showed Walter that, barring those they had already killed, all of the bandits stood before them. On his end, just twenty men still stood, clutching freely bleeding arrow wounds. Walter realized that he himself had only narrowly avoided death; his head was gashed, but the arrow had just barely missed.

"Alright, you idiots, you can quit hacking at each other now!" one of them barked. Quickly, the sounds of battle died off. _A ruse,_ Walter realized with anger. _And we fell for it._ "Well, well, well," The bandit leader said smugly, "What have we here? Looks like the Themisian Guard wants to play. Too bad you didn't count on us 'bandits' being the Plegian Army, eh?"

Walter forced himself to stand, and growled. "The others," he spat. "What did you do to them?"

"What others?" The 'bandit' leader asked, apparently confused, before his face twisted into a cruel grin. "Oh, right, _those_ others." He then stepped aside, and his men behind them did as well, affording Walter a view of distant Themis.

A Themis that was burning, the night sky a brilliant orange. A sight Walter was quite familiar with...

"No!" Maribelle cried in despair.

"Yes!" The Plegian commander screamed back, his voice a cruel mockery of Maribelle's. "You idiots really ought to watch where you discuss your battle plans. We got wind of your plans, and called in a little help to deal with it." Even from here, even in the dark, Walter could see hundreds of soldiers trampling the fields of Themis, moving to surround the city.

"You haven't explained what happened to Captain Franklin," Walter noted, wiping blood from the side of his face.

"Oh, him?" the Plegian commander responded blithely. "They were just leaving the city when we attacked it. They never even got past the front gate. Of course," he grinned evilly, "their guts are probably decorating the ground by now, but they might be alive…one or two of them, anyway. More than you lot can say. Archers!" he cried. Walter heard the drawing of bowstring all around them, and began saying a silent prayer for the souls of his men, and for the souls of Themis' civilians. They would surely perish here, unable to aid Themis.

"Wait!" Maribelle shouted.

The commander held up his arm, and no arrows were loosed. "You got something to say, harlot?" he asked condescendingly. "Your last words, perhaps?"

"Yes, I have something to say." Maribelle responded defiantly. "More of a bargain to propose, really, I am Maribelle, daughter of Duke Themis. I will allow you to take me into custody, in exchange for the lives of my guards."

"Lady Maribelle, no!" Walter barked desperately. _Has she lost her wits!?_

"Really now?" The Plegian commander asked, raising his eyebrow. "Gahark!" he barked.

"Yeah boss?" one of the Plegians responded.

"You're one of the actual bandits from around here. You recognize this tart?"

"Aye, sure do boss," the bandit responded. "She's the Duke's daughter, alright. She'd fetch a pretty penny at the slave market."

"Hmm," the commander hummed. "Or she will make an excellent bargaining chip for King Gangrel. Alright then missy. Get off your horse, drop the tome, and we'll leave your guards here. Luckily for you, you found one of the few Plegian captains who fancies himself a man of his word, so you don't even need to worry about being backstabbed."

Walter turned to Maribelle desperately as she dismounted. "Lady Maribelle, you mustn't," Walter pleaded. "Prisoners of war are not treated kindly."

"I will be fine, Walter," Maribelle responded determinedly as she dropped her tome. "There is no sense in wasting all of our lives here. But please," she added more quietly, "do not follow. I want… I _need_ you to save Themis."

Walter wanted to argue, but could find no words. Resignedly, he nodded. "As you wish, Maribelle. After we save the city, we will come for you."

"I will be counting on it," she responded with a small smile, before striding forward and surrendering herself to the bandits. _I fear I have misjudged her character,_ Walter thought sadly as two of the bandits bound her arms with coarse rope, both wearing lecherous grins. _It takes a woman of incredible courage to surrender herself voluntarily as a prisoner of war._

"So, we going to kill the soldiers now, boss?" One of the bandits asked.

The Plegian commander shook his head. "No. I'm a man of my word. Besides," he grinned cruelly. "Knowing these idiots, they'll probably throw themselves straight at the Army and get killed anyway. We've got our hostage, let's get out of here." Several of the bandits looked like they wanted to argue, but most of them just shrugged and followed the Plegian commander as they walked westward, toward the Plegian border.

"Captain," a voice said hoarsely behind Walter. It was Michael, sporting an arrow in his lung. He was still standing, though very short of breath He snapped the arrow shaft off, groaning in pain, before continuing. "We're not just going to let them take her, are we?"

"We have no choice," Walter responded, before turning back to the burning city. "We must save the city first."

"There are only a little over twenty of us left," another voice said. Byron, this time, with an arrow piercing his forearm, through the muscle. He had already snapped the shaft off, and his breathing was ragged from pain. "We're all injured. We can't possibly save the city."

"We cannot fight those Plegians either, if that is the case," Walter countered. "I know healing magic, I can heal our wounds, but it will take time. Too much time to pursue Lady Maribelle, but we will still be able to save the city. That was Lady Maribelle's parting wish, and I will fulfill it. Even if I must go alone."

"I'm with you," a third voice responded. Graeme, this time, free of arrows but bleeding heavily from his shoulder where he had been grazed. His mount, sadly, had been slain. "It's time to give these Plegians what-for." The remaining soldiers all gave a shout of approval.

"Hey, Michael," Byron spoke up. The archer turned to him, coughing up a bit of blood in the process. "It looks like you got this year's arrow, so you should be fine for the rest of the battle."

The rest of the soldiers gave a laugh at that, before moving on to the grim task of tending their wounds. For roughly twenty minutes, the former bandit camp was a chorus of pained cries as arrowhead after arrowhead was cut from wounds, before Walter would tend each of them. Michael's lung wound was especially severe, and even after the healing magic he was short of breath. He insisted that he was capable of fighting, however. Walter took stock of his troops as he healed them: twelve lancers, seven cavaliers that were functionally regular infantrymen due to the mounts dying in the arrow barrage, and only two archers. As the last soldier was healed, they all stood, and following Walter's lead, began their desperate march back to Themis, which was still alight with flame.

000

"Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter cried as his soldiers charged. The Plegian rear, taken by complete surprise at being attacked from behind, buckled. Most of the rear formation was comprised of archers, so what few maintained their bearings could only flee from the onslaught.

Upon nearing the city, they had noticed that there was fighting _outside_ of the gates; he realized Captain Franklin must still be alive. He had ordered his men to punch through their lines as quickly as possible, to regroup and make a stand.

They quickly broke through the back half of the plegian lines, mostly mages and archers unaccustomed to close combat, but finally met stiff resistance when they broke through to the infantry ranks.

Walter bashed aside the axe strike of one Plegian soldier and drove his mace into the fighter's skull. Beside him, Graeme thrust his longsword into another's gut, easily piercing the leather armor. Even as they struck their targets down, however, more began to take their place.

"Captain!" Michael shouted. Walter kicked his current opponent back and glanced at the archer. "Wyverns!" Walter paled, and followed the archer's pointing hand to see the incoming Wyverns.

Walter was relieved to find that the Wyverns of this world were roughly half the size of the black desert wyverns of Hexter; they were only slightly larger than a pegasus, just enough to accommodate a rider. Offsetting that, however, was the fact that there were easily two dozen of them, whereas the Orcs normally flew in squadrons of five to eight.

"Make haste!" Walter cried. "The city has archers, if we get within their bow range the wyverns will be forced to pull back!" With that, he turned back to his opponent, who was just regaining his footing, and charged forward. He rammed shield-first into the swordsmen, forcing him to stumble further. Walter ignored him as he passed, however; they had no time to pick off every enemy in their path. With Walter as the spearhead, the soldiers began pushing desperately through the Plegian lines, mostly content to simply shove the enemy out of the way.

At long last, Walter heard the sounds of fighting more clearly; they were close. As he shield-charged yet another soldier, who fell down, Walter was treated to the surprising sight of Duke Themis himself, adorned in deep black armor, leading the defense from the front atop a jet-black horse. He wielded a silver longsword in one hand and tome in the other, casting powerful spells that Walter knew was beyond the capabilities of any of the Shepherds while cutting apart any Plegian bold enough to come close. The wyverns were forced to retreat as the few archers mounted on the castle walls began firing at them. Two of them were blown from the sky by a devastating wind spell from Themis.

"Duke Themis!" Walter shouted in shock as his soldiers regrouped with the defenders, and turned about to face the Plegians in a unified front. "What are you doing here? You should remain within the city!"

"And let these Plegian bastards sack my city while I cower like a scared babe?" Duke Themis scoffed. "They will never take this city while I draw breath! I have already sent word to the capital, the Army is likely on its way by now." With that, he cast a spell over Walter's head. Walter nodded in grim satisfaction as the magic caused the earth to erupt in magma beneath several Plegians, their screams of agony not quite drowned out by the clashing of steel. Duke Themis turned his attention to his soldiers, before frowning. "Where is Maribelle?" he asked quietly. Walter didn't respond."Where is my daughter, Walter!?"

"She…she was captured, Duke Themis," Walter replied solemnly. "She turned herself over to the Plegians to save our lives, so that we might aid the city."

Duke Themis face grew pale and stricken. "I…I see," Duke Themis responded numbly. "She was… _is_ ," he amended, "such a strong willed girl. Of course she would do something like that...so foolish…" Then his face turned furious as he looked over the Plegian ranks. "Plegian bastards!" He roared, preparing another spell. "You will not survive this night!" He let the spell loose, and Walter stared on in awe as the very skies opened up, pouring forth dozens of bolts of pure electricity. The bolts crashed into the Plegian ranks, killing five or six men apiece. "Come on then," Duke Themis roared as the Plegians reeled. "Where is your commander!? Does he cower like a child behind the lot of you! Does he fear to bloody his blade!? I challenge him to single combat!" With that, he spurred his horse forward into the dazed Plegian ranks, pushing back the way Walter and his men had come. _What is the fool doing!?_ He thought with panic.

"Byron!" Walter shouted as he ran into the melee after the Duke, "Command the defense! I must keep Duke Themis alive!"

"You've got it, Captain!" Byron shouted back. Walter then turned away and sprinted into the Plegian ranks.

Walter felt himself hard pressed to keep up. Duke Themis' reckless charge stunned those he rode through, but many began recovering just as Walter would run past. He found himself desperately blocking and countering blows on all sides. During a second's lull in the fighting, he noted with panic that he could not see Duke Themis above the crowd anymore.

"So, you're the commander of this siege?" he heard the Duke faintly shout. Walter felt a wave of relief; he had not fallen. Walter quickly began following the sound of his voice, still struggling to defend himself as he went.

Walter finally broke through the lines, which were arranged in a circle around a confrontation, to see that Duke Themis had dismounted his horse before the enemy commander. He was a giant of a man, standing a full head above even Walter, his bare arms and chest rippling with muscle and covered in scars. He wore armor on his legs, and fur faulds and tassets, along with two ox-skulls on his shoulders, but nothing else. His face was stoic, a thick beard concealing a good part of his face.

"Indeed, I am General Mustafa of Plegia," the man answered. "Surrender now, and I will do what I can to preserve your city and its people. Resist, and I will have no choice but to follow my orders and raze it to the ground."

Walter realized quickly that this man had no desire to be here. His face had shifted to an uneasy frown, and his posture was reluctant. That didn't matter to Duke Themis, however.

"The day I trust a Plegian commander to be merciful is the day I am laid to rest," Duke Themis spat. "You claim not to want to destroy my city, yet your archers still fired flaming arrows into the residential area." Duke Themis shook his head. "No, I will take my chances here, by my blade."

General Mustafa sighed, before turning to a nearby lieutenant. "If I fall here," he instructed, "your orders are to retreat."

"Sir?" The lieutenant replied, shocked. "But King Gangrel…"

"Tell him that I had no confidence in your ability to command, and did not wish to risk failure," Mustafa answered. "You have your orders, soldier." He then turned back to Duke Themis, and glanced over to Walter, before addressing all of his men. "This is a challenge of single combat!" Mustafa proclaimed. "None of you are to interfere. If his knight does," Mustafa said, gesturing toWalter, "then the challenge is null, and you have my permission to attack both of them.

Walter grimaced as the general then drew a massive battle-axe from his back and settled into a ready position. He noticed the soldiers around him eyeing him warily, their hands not-quite on the hilts of their weapons. _Duke Themis,_ he thought resignedly, _you are a fool._ The two commanders then rushed at each other, starting the duel. Walter absently noted the sun beginning to rise as the two collided.

The Duke was the first to strike, his sword being faster than the hefty axe. Mustafa placed the haft of his axe between himself and the blow, and the sword bounced off of it. As Duke Themis recoiled, he swung the axe expertly in a horizontal arc, forcing Duke Themis to leap backward. Walter watched with grim tension as the two proceeded to exchange blows. Duke Themis' sword was quicker, but Mustafa always managed to block it. Duke Themis, on the other hand, was forced to disengage with every strike Mustafa made, his sword having nowhere near enough mass to block the enormous axe. He also could not use his tome, at least for anything more than the weakest of spells, because Mustafa was being incredibly aggressive in his maneuvering.

To Walter's horror, the duel reached a very sudden climax. Duke Themis lost his footing, presumably on a rock of some sort, and fell to the ground. His sword and tome landed beyond his reach. Mustafa took advantage of this, pressing his armored boot onto Duke Themis' chest. The Duke struggled briefly to move it, before realizing the situation, his arms slumping away.

"Yield, Duke Themis," Mustafa requested simply. "I will spare you, and do what I can to protect you in prison."

"I will never be taken captive," Themis responded defiantly, "and it is foolish to trust a Plegian commander, after what you dogs did to the previous Exalt."

Mustafa sighed in resignation, before lifting his axe. "Then I have no choice. I will endeavor to make your death painless."

Walter chose that time to act. He rushed forward, ramming shield-first into the Plegian commander's side. Taken off guard, Mustafa tumbled to the ground. Walter took advantage of the surprise he had given the Plegians, and kicked Duke Themis' weapons back into his reach, before hauling him to his feet. The two quickly stood back to back as the Plegians recovered from their shock, and began slowly advancing. Mustafa scoffed, before retreating back into the rest of his army.

"It appears you saved me," Duke Themis commented wryly, "simply for us to die a few minutes later."

"Every second we can buy is another second Themis lives," Walter answered solemnly, raising his shield.

"Quite true," Themis replied. "Well then, let us give these vagabonds one last fight, shall we?" At that moment, the Plegians charged.

The two worked as one, covering each others' backs, blocking stray blows for each other, finishing off each others foes. Walter had to admit he was impressed; though Duke Themis was older than he was by at least a decade, he moved with the swiftness and strength of a man half his age. If the scar on his arm still pained him, Themis did not show it; he slew the Plegians swiftly and skillfully. Quickly, the ground around them became littered with so many corpses that the Plegians were forced to step over each their fallen comrades to attack Walter and the Duke. The deadly dance continued for what felt like hours, though was likely only a few minutes.

Even so, Walter began to tire, despite the adrenaline in his system. His mace swings became slower, less forceful. His shield began to give more and more to each blow. Duke Themis, being even older than Walter, was suffering just as much, if not more. Finally, the Duke collapsed to the ground, completely out of breath. He struggled to stand again, but could not find the strength.

"Is this how it ends, then?" Themis asked faintly, struggling even to speak. "Dead at the gates of my own city, my daughter captured by Plegia, my people slaughtered?"

Walter didn't answer for a second. He thought of Bersia, and how his campaign for the Ancient Heart had originally started. How similar it was to that day…though he was looking at things differently now.

"No," Walter stated defiantly. "Not one more innocent will die on my account." Walter knew what he was going to do; what he had to do. It would likely kill him in the process, but he had no choice.

Walter had seen few people use the technique he was about to use. He gathered all of his magical energy and focused it inwards, toward his very soul. The only person he had seen use this technique more than once was Regnier, who could afford to do so, being immortal. The spell he was about to use granted great power…at the cost of the caster's very life force. He had been taught to call it "Holy Flame", and cautioned against its use by the Ecclesian Bishop who had instructed him in its use. He had been implored to use it only in the direst of circumstances.

Walter thought that this occasion fit the term "dire circumstances".

As he finished the mental incantation, he felt his entire body come alight with flame. He felt the warmth, but no burning, as the spell seemed to purge his being of all tiredness, all fatigue, filling his limbs with so much energy that he felt fit to burst. He lifted his mace, which had also been consumed by flame, and struck at the nearest Plegian.

The mace hit the soldier's chest with such force that it blew the man backwards several feet, his leather armor igniting. He was already dead when he hit the ground however; his chest had been utterly crushed.

The Plegians hesitated upon seeing that. One finally gathered his courage and leapt at Walter, axe swinging swiftly toward his head. Walter casually batted the axe aside with such extreme power that it ripped the weapon from his opponents grasp, sending it sailing into the crowd around them. Walter ignored it however, as his counter strike turned the soldier's head into an unrecognizable mass; a misplaced axe was a petty concern, for mortals, not gods. For that was what he was now, immortal, a god amongst men. How else could one effortlessly parry the blows of three soldiers from three separate directions and slay them all with a single swing of one's mace, if one is not a god? Yet these petulant mortals dared to question his divinity more, coming at him three, five, or even more at a time. It made little difference, however; the insects died just the same. He registered Duke Themis sitting at his feet, forgotten by the Plegians as they desperately tried to slay the god amongst them.

As Walter finished off yet another impertinent mortal, he vaguely heard a horn call. Diverting his attention briefly, he saw a large mass of flying shapes in the distance. Not wyverns, he realized but pegasi.

The Ylissean Army had finally arrived.

Realizing their situation, the Plegians forgot Walter and Duke Themis, and moved to retreat. The ranks of Plegians pulled back around Walter and Duke Themis, giving them a wide berth. Walter remained on guard until the army had passed. Walter went to follow him, the Holy Flame still wreathing his body. How dare they invoke the wrath of a god, and then attempt to flee!? Swift justice would be their-

Suddenly, his body was wracked with pain, and he collapsed to one knee, gasping in agony. Within seconds, the Holy Flame guttered out, and every ounce of pain and fatigue that he had been relieved of came rushing back with vengeance. As he collapsed all the way to the earth, he heard vague shouting and saw, through blurred vision, a mass of people moving towards him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 **The Greyhampton Massacre**

 **Four months prior to the Battle of Nowart**

 **Greyhampton, a town on the Hironeiden-Vellond border**

"Captain Walter, excuse me for this rude question, but-"

"The Dark Elves in the East are not capable of enlightenment," Sir Justino cut the paladin off, his tone even. He had easily predicted the paladin's line of questioning. "However, they _can_ become tools to carry out the Lord's will."

"But Sir Justino," the paladin retorted, "a pact with the Dark Elves means noth-"

"We follow the word of the Lord," Sir Justino interrupted again, his tone now becoming dangerous and stern. "His Holiness and Sir Walter received it themselves. Dare you speak against _the Lord_ , soldier?" The paladin's face was covered by his helmet's mask, but he visibly recoiled at the accusation.

"Sir Walter, they are here," the paladin said suddenly, pointing ahead of them.

Walter had already seen them, however. He glared at them, his eyes hard and expression stoic. Three Dark Elves stood before him, two barely dressed females ( _hedonistic pagans,_ Walter mentally scoffed) and one male.

"High Elf Rithrin, of Osmond, province of Hexter," the Dark Elf male introduced himself. Walter's instincts screamed at him to slay the Dark Elf where he stood. His iron-grey skin, white hair, pointed ears, and foreign garb all grated against Walter's instincts. And his _voice,_ that damnable voice. So smug, so assured, with an accent that, even across nations, Walter could recognize as one of affluence.

Not only was he dealing with a Dark Elf, but a Dark Elf _noble_. May the Lord grant him patience.

"And you might be?" Rithrin said expectantly after a second of silence from Walter.

Walter finally deigned to speak. "I come in the name of the Lord," Walter said stiffly. "My own name is of no importance."

Rithrin smirked. "This meeting is…dishonorable to you, yes?" he asked mockingly.

"I just want your assurances, for the last time," Walter replied exasperatedly. He would not let this subhuman trash get under his skin.

"Nothing has changed," Rithrin replied, his tone still so unbearably _smug_. "Support Kaedes. If you create chaos, we will lead you to what you desire…" he trailed off then, frowning, before whipping his head to the left. "Who is there!?" he barked.

Walter's stomach dropped as a man burst from his apparent hiding place. A human man, and not one of his own. "Hironeiden!" Walter exclaimed in fear.

"There will be trouble if this pact is made known," Rithrin said warily. He began backtracking, before looking back to Walter. "May we meet again, human," Rithrin said shortly, before hurrying off.

"Justino, with me," Walter said shortly, watching Rithrin disappear into the underbrush. "We must find this scout before he returns to his unit."

000

"It looks like he ran to the guard camp," Justino said gravely. Walter and Justino had followed the scout's poorly-covered tracks back to the edge of Greyhampton. Even from here, they could see the guard camp he had run to lighting up as the soldiers were awakened. "What now?"

Walter sighed. This was bad, very bad. He was out of his depth. "I will consult with His Holiness," Walter responded finally.

"By the time we get back to Ecclesia, Hironeiden will already know everything," Justino argued. "We must strike now!"

Walter's gaze shot to Justino, his brow furrowed. "'Strike'? What do you propose, Justino?" Walter asked warily.

"We make it look as if Hexter raided the village," Justino responded stoically. "Hironeiden will declare war against Hexter and Vellond will be dragged into it, creating the chaos that those Kaedes Dark Elves wanted. Everything will go in our favor."

Walter couldn't believe his ears. Had Justino really just…"Justino!" Walter shouted, horrified, "That's…unconscionable!" To massacre an _entire village_ just to cover this up?

"If we don't keep this contained, everything is lost, Walter," Justino insisted. Walter simply turned his back to Justino, mute, refusing to consider what Justino was proposing. "Walter!" Justino shouted again.

000

"Get rid of the guards, and burn down the village," Walter instructed his men. Shocked silence greeted him in return. Nobody moved. "Make it look like a Dark Legion attack," Walter clarified. Still nobody move. "Move!" he barked, more harshly than he intended. That snapped the soldiers out of their shocked stupor and began assembling themselves into a proper military formation.

"W-we have identified two guard camps near Greyhampton," the paladin from earlier stated. He had deployed scouts ahead of their force to ascertain where the guards were stationed.

"Thank you," Walter said stoically. "Get back in formation. Let's move!" he shouted to the rest of his soldiers. Patriarch Dimitri had initially questioned his desire to bring twenty five paladins, twenty archers, and fifteen cavaliers to a simple 'diplomatic' meeting, but had shared Walter's concerns about the trustworthiness of the Dark Legion, and had so allowed it. Walter was morbidly thankful; with these troops at his disposal, the mission should be quite simple and swiftly executed.

Their force came upon the southernmost guard camp within minutes. On Walter's orders, Lieutenant Kesley urged his cavaliers forward. The single infantry unit patrolling the exterior of the camp was swiftly trampled underneath the hooves of the horses, some of them dead before they even knew what was happening.

A small horn call sounded, however; one of the camp's perimeter guards must have spotted them. Within seconds, more troops were pouring out of the camp. Their captain came with them, hastily pulling his helmet on.

"Why are the Patriarch's men attacking us!?" he cried in shock as he noticed who was assaulting them. Walter's paladins joined the melee, and the leader rushed forward, not even drawing his sword. He dropped to the ground on his knees, hands raised in supplication. "We surrender!" he shouted. Walter's troops ignored him, and continued slaughtering the Hironeiden soldiers. "For God's sake, we surrender!" The captain reiterated as Walter drew his own mace. "What are you doing!?" Walter then brought his mace down on the kneeling commander, and his protests ended.

Within a minute, the guards had been eliminated. Most had been unarmored or only partially so, while the Emissaries had been well armed and prepared. It hadn't been a battle, but a massacre.

As Walter's troop disengaged and drew back, his archers fired. Their arrows, coated in oil and set ablaze by a torch bearer, quickly set the mostly empty camp ablaze. What few soldiers remained inside were caught in the inferno, their screams just barely audible over the roaring flames.

"The guard camp has been burned," the paladin from before reported gravely. "No survivors."

"Well done," Walter said around the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Move onto the next one."

As the soldiers fell back into formation, Walter gestured for Justino to move closer. His friend obliged, and Walter sighed in sorrow. "You know something, Justino?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Justino replied, his voice equally low. He picked up on the fact that this was something the soldiers shouldn't hear.

"Even Orcs don't kill women and children," Walter said as he thought about what they were about to do. "I may be less human than even an Orc."

"It is sacrilegious to compare yourself to a soulless animal," Sir Justino replied vehemently, before his voice became more assuring. "The Lord will have mercy on the souls of those who died today. He knows the nobility of their sacrifice. They are matyrs, martyrs for the greater good." Walter didn't respond. "A worthy death for any soul," Justino added.

"Well, after today, the Patriarchal Office will be updating their list of martyrs for quite awhile," Walter stated morbidly. He then leaned away from Justino and urged their men to move faster. Justino took the hint and replaced himself in formation.

They came upon the second guard camp within several minutes, but these were ready. The scout had run here first. A quick glance at the stables, however, told Walter that they had not yet dispatched a messenger to Hironeiden to warn them. _Good._

"Go, in the name of the Lord!" Walter shouted. His men charged forward, crashing against the Hironeiden ranks. His cavaliers repetitively charged through the melee, deftly avoiding their own men while trampling the enemy. His archers began firing into the melee, their arrows skidding harmlessly off of the paladins' heavy plate, while they punched straight into the leather-armored Hironeiden soldiers. Walter then directed his archers to begin their fire attack, before joining the melee himself.

"Stop!" one of the soldiers cried as the guard camp came ablaze. "That's a hospital!"

"Kill him," Walter ordered. The last thing he needed was for the soldiers to get cold feet at the prospect of killing the infirm. His soldiers obliged his request to kill the commander, and soon the guards began dropping rapidly, outnumbered and outmatched as they were.

"Both guard camps have been burned," Justino reported as the soldiers fell back into formation at the skirmish's conclusion. "No survivors."

"Advance to Greyhampton, and burn down the village!" Walter ordered. Once again, his men hesitated. He understood why, his stomach was roiling and every part of his mind except the cold, practical part was screaming at him to stop. "Once the fire breaks out, they will try to flee to Hironeiden, and if they do, then we will be at war," Walter stated. "No one leaves this place alive. No one!" His soldiers looked to each other nervously. "No exceptions. No clemency for women, nor children, nor the old and infirm," he hammered in. His soldiers began murmuring amongst themselves. "Put your personal feelings aside!" he implored them. "Keep in mind the danger to all of the innocent people of Bersia!"

That seemed to do the trick. His soldiers were aware of the Oracle's prophecy. The prospect of saving the world did much to motivate a man, even to otherwise evil deeds. His soldiers straightened out and began marching to Greyhampton.

Within a few minutes, they stood on the village outskirts. It was a modest little town, not likely more than a hundred people. A low wooden wall surrounded the town, providing a layer of protection from Dark Legion raiding parties.

The wooden barrier only served as fuel, however, for the inferno Walter's archers unleashed. Within seconds, every part of the town was ablaze at some level. Villagers began pouring out of the three gates to the town.

"The villagers are escaping!" Walter thought with panic. A secret part of him hoped one would get away, but Walter immediately quashed that thought; the welfare of Bersia was worth far more than the lives of all of these villagers combined, and if any escaped, it would spark a civil war among humanity. "If we hesitate, they will get away!" His soldiers dutifully began charging, the villagers scattering before them.'

Walter frowned as he noticed one of his soldiers cast his mace and helmet to the ground with a cry of frustration. A young brown haired man, barely twenty five winters. Walter realized it was the paladin that had been questioning him before.

The paladin caught his eye. "Dammit, I can't do this!" he cried in agony. "Sir Walter, I can't go on. What good is peace if we earn it this way!?"

Walter hummed. He figured at least one of his soldiers would dissent. He needed to curtail this problem before his ideas spread. "What is your name, soldier?" Walter asked, his voice sympathetic.

"Jefferson, sir," he replied, his voice somewhat shaky.

"Are you married?" Walter asked.

"Yes," Jefferson replied, his voice now a bit confused as to where Walter was going with this. "And I have two daughters."

"I see," Walter responded, his voice turning hard. He placed his hand on Jefferson's shoulder and turned him toward Greyhampton, where their allies were steadily slaughtering the villagers of Greyhampton. "Tell me, Jefferson: how many will die like this? How many will die, at the hands of the Dark Legion, just like this, if we don't finish this job?" He spun Jefferson back around to face him. "You could be a hero, soldier. We are saving the world here. Literally saving the world!"

"It doesn't look that way to me, sir," Jefferson responded defiantly. "And even if we were, I don't _care_ about any of that, sir. This is _wrong_."

Walter then frowned angrily. "Then think of your wife and daughter, soldier!" he shouted. Jefferson winced. "Don't do something that would put them in danger!"

In the coming days, Walter would realize that Jefferson may have considered that a threat. As it was, Jefferson's features hardened, and he picked up his weapon and helmet again. He slammed the helmet down over his head and stormed off toward the battlefield. Walter sighed in frustration and sorrow, before following him.

"Do you mean to kill us all, Ecclesian bastards!" an old man screamed in fury as Walter approached him. He shakily waved a sword, likely a family heirloom he had never used, in Walter's direction, but it did not deter him. "You're worse than the Dark Legion!" The accusation stung, and was perhaps not unwarranted, but still Walter marched forward. " _This_ is all in the name of your God? HA!" he laughed hysterically as Walter neared him. He swung his sword wildly, but the blade skittered uselessly off of Walter's armor. The old man's poor grip caused the sword to fly from his hands as he recoiled.

"God bless you," Walter responded resolutely, as he brought down his mace.

"You call yourselves human, burning women and children!?" his next target screamed in hysterics. A woman, maybe a decade younger than Walter. "You're not human! You're _not_ _human_!" she screamed fearfully as Walter closed in. "Speak, monster!" she yelled defiantly as Walter came within range and raised his mace.

Walter did not speak, instead letting his weapon speak for him. He moved further into the battlefield, searching for the next target.

"Stop, mercy!" his next target shouted desperately as Walter closed in. Walter could not handle the incessant screaming; he opted to begin reciting a prayer. Maybe that would distract him.

"Protect me from all evil thoughts," Walter began solemnly.

"Please, no!" the man cried. His pleas fell on deaf ears, however; Walter struck him down stoically.

"So that I may bear agony without pain," Walter continued, closing in on the next villager, "comforted by your love and compassion," he continued the prayer further, as he brought down his weapon yet again. This target, another woman, did not see him coming, and thus offered no protest.

"Sir…" the next one pleaded, crying. A boy, no older than his own son. "Please," the boy begged, "let me live."

"To serve you, in peace and purity," Walter finished as the boy dropped lifelessly to the ground. Walter somehow convinced himself that the prayer was comforting, even as he continued his horrendous work.

What seemed like an eternity later, the Emissaries had finished the job. They reformed the lines outside of Greyhampton; none of their number had fallen.

"Well done," Walter addressed them. He couldn't accurately describe the things he was feeling right now. He suspected his men were much the same; he would need to rationalize this for them. "I know today's mission must have been…painful, for all of you," Walter continued solemnly. His men stared at him impassively, their faces hidden by their helmets. "Remember this pain. This pain exists only because of the Dark Legion in our lands! And we shall bring an end to it, once and for all, by fulfilling the will of the Oracle." His men still did not respond. "We shall retreat north and set up a base camp, and return to Ecclesia tomorrow. Move out!" His soldiers wordlessly complied, turning about and marching northward.

He then turned to Justino. "Justino, finish the job here. Clean up any evidence of our being here. I will send a report to His Holiness."

"Leave it to me. But sir…the men. They are troubled," Justino said nervously. "Justifiably so," he added morosely.

"Once we get back to the border, I'll take care of them," Walter assured. "A little food and drink will ease their troubles. They deserve a chance to recover, after what they've been through."

As he turned to take his place in formation, he felt for his wedding ring. Thoughts of his wife brought him comfort in dark times before, perhaps it would do so now. He did not wear it on his hand anymore, not since his wife had passed. Instead, he wore it on a chain on his neck.

Walter panicked when all that came up in his hand was a broken chain. It must have been lost in the battle…no, the massacre. Walter grieved for its lost briefly, before morosely accepting it. Were his wife still alive, she would no longer love him, not after today. It was only fitting that he lost the last reminder he had of that love.

000

"Let us take a break here tonight," Walter announced as they crossed the Hironeiden-Ecclesian border near Jungsburg, and arrived at the camp they had originally built before the botched rendezvous with Rithrin. "You are all permitted to drink your fill tonight," he added. Normally such a proclamation would be met with cheering, but not tonight. _For obvious reasons_. "From now on, our destiny will seem increasingly painful," he added in an attempt to soothe them. His men still did not respond. "But together, we can overcome _anything._ Hold fast in your faith, and trust in the guidance of the Lord! For now, enjoy yourselves and take your rest." His men recognized the dismissal, and began setting up a makeshift camp. Still not a word was exchanged.

Walter frowned as he claimed the commander's tent and sat gently down in the chair. His soldiers simply needed time, he concluded. Time to process what had happened. As he stripped of his armor and lay down in his bunk to sleep, he could feel a sensation in the back of his head, not unlike a great weight was pressing on him. _Tomorrow,_ he told himself, laying down and closing his eyes. _I will worry about it tomorrow._

000

Walter awoke from a fitful, nightmare-infused sleep to the sound of shouting. Hurriedly, he grabbed his mace and ran to the entrance of his tent, barging through it. He saw several soldiers sprinting toward the north side of the camp, Justino among them. None were armed, however; it can't have been an attack on the camp. He gently tossed his mace back into the tent.

"Justino!" he cried, catching his friend's attention. The knight stopped and turned around, a grim expression on his face. "What's all this noise about, it's barely dawn yet!"

"One of the soldiers hung themselves," Justino replied gravely. "They say he was troubled about yesterday. Perhaps letting the soldiers drink themselves to sleep wasn't such a good idea," he added.

Walter cursed mentally. Why hadn't he considered that might happen!? "Show me," Walter told him. Justino gestured for him to follow, and the two began making their way through the crowd. Eventually they pushed through, and Walter cursed when he saw who it was.

Jefferson hung from the tree, still in his armor, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 **Confession**

"Jefferson!" Walter cried in panic as he bolted upright, his body protesting in agony. It took a second for his disoriented brain to right itself, but he eventually realized that it was in fact _not_ the morning after Greyhampton. That it had been several months since the massacre; several months and a world ago.

He winced as his body was wracked by a new wave of pain. He flopped back down onto the cot he was laying on, and took in his surroundings with bleary eyes. All around him were various wounded soldiers. A healer's tent, he realized grimly. Then it came back to him: his dispatch to Themis, the raid on the bandit stronghold, and the battle.

 _The battle!_

"Healer!" he cried. Quickly, a young woman that Walter didn't recognized hustled into the tent, panicking at one of her patients crying out. She began rushing toward him, but he gingerly waved away her concern. "The battle! How did we fare? Is Themis safe?"

"Yes, it's safe," a voice said from behind the healer. "In no small part thanks to you," he added. It was Chrom standing there, wearing a silver breastplate and buckler over his regular black tunic. "Leave us, please," he begged of the healer. She swiftly nodded and exited the tent.

Chrom pulled up a chair as Walter lay there. "Themis still stands," Chrom started. "There's extensive damage from the fire attack, but no troops entered the city itself. Duke Themis and the Themisian Guard have been singing your praises, you know," he chuckled. "They credit you with saving the entire duchy."

"I am not sure I did that much," Walter replied skeptically.

"Apparently, you were such a demon in battle that the front ranks had to pull back just to fight you, if what your men say is true," Chrom countered. "Duke Themis himself was even a little disturbed at how well you were fighting."

"I used a very powerful, and very costly spell," Walter explained. "It gives one immense power, but at the cost of the caster's health."

"Yes, Lissa noticed," Chrom replied wryly. "She said you looked like you had been cooked alive inside of your armor. It took her two straight days of almost constant healing to keep you alive."

Walter winced; he had not anticipated the effects of the Holy Flame to be so severe, even for such short term usage. "Then the Princess has my humble gratitude," Walter stated gratefully.

Chrom looked uneasy for a second, before sighing and putting his face in his hands for a second. "Walter, whose name were you shouting when you woke up?" Chrom asked evenly.

Walter's brows furrowed in suspicion. _Does he know something?_ "A former soldier of mine," Walter responded.

"Why does this particular soldier stand out?" Chrom asked, his voice turning serious.

Walter's face turned into a frown. Chrom definitely knew something. Nevertheless, Walter decided to answer him honestly. "I gave Jefferson…morally questionable orders," Walter responded. "He did not take well to them, and hung himself after the mission was over."

Chrom gasped in shock, before turning serious again. "What mission?" Chrom asked again.

 _He knows,_ Walter realized. _Somehow he knows._ "You know very well which mission, Prince Chrom," Walter stated, his voice becoming irritated. "Though I wonder how you have heard of it."

"I wish to hear it from your own mouth, Walter," Chrom responded, his voice even, but still serious. "What mission?"

Walter sighed, before beginning his tale. The Oracle he had received with the Patriarch. One of their spies dispatched to the Holy Ground returning with an offer from a Dark Elf resistance group called Kaedes. The arranged diplomatic meeting after months of secret correspondence, and when the meeting went wrong.

"I will spare you the details," Walter concluded his tale as Chrom looked on impassively, "but we could not afford to allow Hironeiden to discover the meeting. It would have caused a civil war among mankind, exposing both nations to King Valdemar's knife," he reasoned. "So we… we destroyed Greyhampton," he finished quietly. "No one left that place alive."

Chrom's face twisted into one of shock and revulsion, and he said nothing for the longest time.

"I will understand if you no longer wish to have me as part of your militia," Walter said after it was obvious that Chrom could think of nothing to say. "You are all good people… and I am a war criminal," Walter admitted quietly. "My only solace has been that I served the will of the Lord, but that is a poor salve, if we are being honest. I am not entirely sure that I deserve the place in Heaven that I earned for myself."

"You are better than my father, at least," Chrom responded at last, quietly. Walter cocked his head in confusion. "My father was a…hard man," he explained. "He favored severe solutions to every problem. I won't go into detail, but he was unrepentant to the last." He sounded bitter. "You are different. Duke Themis told me what you said before you used that spell."

"I'm afraid I cannot recall what I said, Prince Chrom," Walter responded truthfully.

"You apparently said 'I will not allow one more innocent to die on my account', according to him," Chrom told him. "I will not lie, Walter; your actions go against everything I believe in. In truth, they disgust me greatly. But my sister has faith that you are a good man, and I trust her judgment. She even opted to shield you from King Gerald. After risking your life multiple times to defend Ylisse and her people, I'm inclined to agree with her."

Walter cocked his head. "What are you talking about?" Walter asked slowly. "How did she shield me from King Gerald?"

"King Gerald arrived at Ylisstol mere hours before we did," Chrom replied. Walter went pale. "He was in audience with my sister when we arrived, demanding that we turn you over to 'face justice'." Chrom shook his head. "Emmeryn held his attention while I dispatched you to Themis. She told me nothing of what King Gerald had told her before we arrived, but before I left the room, she told me, 'Walter is much like our father in many ways, but his opposite in all of the ways that count.' In truth, I didn't understand what she was talking about at the time. After King Gerald had stormed out, long after you were dispatched to Themis, she told me what you had been accused of."

Walter was shocked silent in awe and gratitude. Exalt Emmeryn, despite her dedication to peace, had shielded a war criminal from those hunting him. All because she believed he was a good person. _All because she's a poor judge of character;_ he edited himself.

"I…I do not know what to say," Walter said quietly. "I must thank the Exalt, but words seem insufficient."

"You can think about it on the way back to Ylisstol," Chrom stated with a small smile as he stood up. "We're leaving in the morning. Maribelle is rotting in a Plegian dungeon right now, and I'm going to convince my sister to let us go rescue her."

"And if we cannot?" Walter asked. An incursion into Plegia would be an act of war, and he sincerely doubted Emmeryn would approve of it.

"Then we're going anyway," Chrom replied with a devilish grin. "She can lock me up when I come back for all I care. The rest of the Shepherds too, in all likelihood. Maribelle is one of us, and I don't think any of us would leave her at the mercy of Plegia."

Walter nodded. "I will go with you," Walter swore. "I promised Lady Maribelle I would come for her after Themis was safe, and I intend to keep that promise."

"You should be healed by then," Chrom nodded. "Very well. Rest now. We'll be leaving shortly after dawn." With that, he exited the tent. A few minutes later, the healer reentered, and began another treatment of his wounds. Walter drifted off to sleep as the soothing magic ran through him.

000

"We are going, Emm," Chrom insisted, "with your blessing or not!"

Walter stood with Robin and Chrom in the grand hall of Ylisstol's palace over a day later, along with Emmeryn and Captain Phila. Chrom had immediately gone to his sister about rescuing Maribelle the second they returned, bringing Walter and Robin with him. Chrom had not even stripped off his armor yet. Robin wore nothing but his heavy, strange cloak over plain clothes, having no armor himself. Walter had been banned from donning his armor by Lissa until he was properly healed. He was close, but not quite yet. So he simply wore his blue tunic. He absently noted that it was becoming worn and frayed; he had had no time to requisition any other outfits.

"No, you will not," Emmeryn stated sternly. She spoke with a surprising amount of authority for such a normally gentle woman. "We cannot risk another war with Plegia. The last one took a catastrophic toll on the halidom, and I will not drive our people to ruin. If I must imprison you now, I will." Chrom's face screwed up in frustration, but he was cut off from his imminent tirade.

"It appears we may not have to infiltrate Plegia, Your Grace," a voice said from a side entrance to the hall. Frederick strode through the door, holding a letter in his hand. "A messenger just arrived from King Gangrel."

Emmeryn accepted the letter with quick thanks, and began reading its contents. "King Gangrel is claiming that Maribelle crossed the border without authorization," she explained, her lips pursed. "He is demanding a parley to discuss a ransom, or they will execute her."

"Blackhearted, dishonest bastard," Walter cursed aloud. The rest of them looked at him in surprise. "Apologies, Your Grace, that was improper and I spoke out of turn. But his 'bandits' captured Maribelle within sight of the city walls. We did not cross the border of Plegia."

"We have to rescue her!" Chrom exclaimed. "Shepherds, we march to Plegia!"

"No." Emmeryn countered, her voice just barely below a shout. "I will parley with King Gangrel."

"Your Grace, please reconsider!" Captain Phila interrupted. "The Mad King of Plegia cannot be trusted to act in good faith! It is obviously a trap!"

"My word is final, Captain Phila," Emmeryn said, turning and glaring at the woman. Walter was both amused and disconcerted to see any kind of angry look on the young woman's face. "I will not reject any gesture of diplomacy. I am going to parley with King Gangrel."

"My apologies, Your Grace," Phila answered sheepishly, bowing. "I spoke out of turn. Pray, at least allow some of my pegasus knights to accompany you."

"We're going as well," Chrom added. "Somebody has to save you from your good intentions." He shot Robin a knowing look, and Robin returned it with a grin and a roll of his eyes.

Emmeryn actually looked relieved. "Thank you, brother," she replied gratefully. "It will be reassuring to have the Shepherds with me. I will send a response to King Gangrel's message, and we will leave in the morning."

"We will make preparations to leave at once," Chrom stated. He then excused himself, beckoning his Shepherds to follow him. The four strode out of the castle and over to the Shepherds barracks. Chrom then kicked the door to the barracks open ( _is that a theme with the Exalted Line?_ Walter absently wondered, before chuckling softly at the mental image of serene young Emmeryn booting the door to her chambers open), alerting the Shepherds to their presence.

"Shepherds!" Chrom shouted. Everyone was present, and immediately snapped to attention. "We march to Plegia in the morning, to parley with King Gangrel!"

"You mean stick that overdressed jester with a lance?" Sully shouted back, earning laughs from some of the other Shepherds.

"As amusing as that would be," Chrom replied with a grin, "I hope it doesn't come to bloodshed."

"Wishful thinking," Robin muttered from beside Chrom. Chrom elbowed him, hard.

"Robin here will be drawing up a battle plan in case it does, however," Chrom stated, grinning as Robin gingerly rubbed his ribcage. "Listen to his orders, as you would my own."

"But of course, Prince Chrom!" Virion supplied. "Our most tactical of tacticians has not led us astray yet!" The rest of the Shepherds echoed the sentiment.

"We've only been in two battles," Robin reminded them morosely, "and in one of those four of us almost died."

Chrom elbowed him again, harder this time, almost knocking Robin over. "Ignore him, he's just being modest. Rest well tonight, and _lay off the ale, Vaike!_ " he shouted, earning more laughs from the Shepherds. "Good night, Shepherds," he said with a wave as he exited the barracks.

"Hey, Sir Walter," Donnel piped up, "I 'eard about how you won the whole Battle o' Themis single 'anded!"

"Hardly," Walter replied with a chuckle. Several of the younger Shepherds, notably Donnel and an apprentice mage named "Ricken" that Walter hadn't met, had been left behind when the rest marched to war with the Army.

"Don't be modest, Walter," Sully replied jovially, "I'm the one who picked your sorry carcass up off the ground. There were dozens of dead bad guys nearby, and you and Duke Themis were the only ones at that spot!"

"To be fair," Robin piped up, "Duke Themis is apparently an accomplished mage and swordsman in his own right. I'm sure he contributed."

"Come, friend Walter!" Virion shouted. "Regale us with the tales of your heroism!"

Walter tried to object, but Sully and Stahl both stood up and forcibly escorted him to the table, much to his chagrin and the other Shepherds' amusement. From there, he was barraged for hours about what had happened, what it was like to fight in a battle that large, and dozens of other questions Walter didn't even remember.

Eventually, however, the Shepherds tired, and began going off to bed one by one. Donnel was one of the last to depart, leaving Walter, Virion, and Robin alone at the table.

"You're practically a hero," Robin observed with a small laugh. "If I asked a Themisian, they would say you definitely are."

"I am not sure I deserve the praise," Walter stated reluctantly. They admired him now, sure, until-

"I would guess you are referring to ze unfortunate incident at Greyhampton?" Virion asked.

Walter went pale. "How did you-"

"Maids have such loose tongues…if you know ze best way to loosen them," Virion said with a devilish grin. "I knew of it ze night you departed to Themis. I am no stranger to the atrocities of war and politics, friend," Virion said reassuringly. "Many would condemn your choice, but not I. You did what was necessary."

Walter looked to Robin, who looked unsurprised at the news. "And how did you come to know?"

"Basically the same way Virion did," Robin shrugged, "though the guards told me, not maids."

"So scandalous!" Virion declared, grinning evilly. Robin threw a nearby quill at him with a laugh, and turned back to Walter.

"There were no 'midnight relations' involved. Guards just don't mind spilling secrets if not explicitly forbidden. Guards are talkative to each other too," Robin continued. "The rumor mill got churning, and by the time the order to march came to Themis came, everybody knew."

Walter was confused now. "So, why do they all treat me so…well?"

"Two reasons," Robin replied. "First, Virion did a rather remarkable job arguing in your defense. Though it raises questions as to how he knows anything about war, he seemed sincere and knowledgeable. Which is especially rare, so it had extra effect on the Shepherds." Virion protested with wordless exclamation of indignity, prompting the other two to chuckle.

Walter turned to Virion and respectively bowed his head. "You have my gratitude, Sir Virion," Walter said humbly.

"Think nothing of it," Virion replied modestly.

"Second, we all heard about how that King, Gerald, was after your head, and Emmeryn shielded you," Robin continued. "The Exalt has a lot of good faith with her people, especially with the Shepherds. Her vote of confidence was all most of them needed. Sully took a bit more convincing, but it seems that being a one man army and killing dozens of Plegians in defense of a city that you have no real stake in was good enough for her."

Walter nodded, humbled. "I will do my best to live up to the faith you have all put in me."

"I'm sure you will," Robin replied with a smile. "Now, I don't know about you two," he said, standing up with a yawn, "but I'm tired, it's the middle of the night, and we're marching in the morning. So I'm going to bed. Good night." The other two bade him good night in return, and also stood, each heading toward their own rooms.

Walter stumbled into his room, exhausted by the day's events. Having others understand his decision at Greyhampton was comforting. He doubted he would ever truly move past the guilt, but having comrades… _friends…_ who understood why he had done it was more soothing than the increasingly hollow assurances he had given himself on his journey to Nowart.

Walter frowned as he crawled into bed. Greyhampton may have been the greatest of his sins, but it was not the only one. He hoped that the others would be as understanding when the time came to tell them. But tonight was not the time to worry about that. Tomorrow, they marched to Plegia, and most probably war by the sound of this "Mad King Gangrel", so Walter focused on getting his sleep.

000

"Wait for me!" a young voice cried behind them. Chrom, Walter, and Robin were walking through the courtyard, going to link up with the rest of the diplomatic party, when they were interrupted by a short, young-looking lad with red hair and a hat many sizes too large for him.

"Ricken?" Chrom replied, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm coming to rescue Maribelle, duh!" Ricken answered, as if Chrom should have already known. "You need every Shepherd you can get!"

"No," Chrom responded forcefully. "You're far too young for this mission. I have little faith that today will end in anything but a declaration of war, and you're not ready for the front lines. I want you here, protecting the garrison."

"But Chrom-"

"No buts," Chrom insisted, cutting off Ricken's protest before it even started. "We're leaving now, and we've no time to wait for you to get your things together. Be good." With that, Chrom and Robin walked away. Walter lingered behind, however, pitying the young lad.

"'Be good?'" Ricken exclaimed incredulously. "How old does he think I am?"

 _Older than my son when I sent him off with Kendal,_ Walter mused. Then the idea struck him. "Ricken, was it?" Walter addressed him.

Ricken yelped, before nodding. He had apparently not even noticed Walter. "Y-yes sir," he replied shakily.

"How old _are_ you, son?" Walter asked gently.

"I'm fifteen," Ricken said defiantly, "a grown man by Ylissean standards!"

"My own son became a squire at age twelve," Walter responded. "I wholeheartedly agree that you're old enough for war."

Ricken looked a bit put off at the idea of Walter's son being squired at so young an age, but quickly pulled himself together. "You're damn right I am, sir!"

"Would you like to know the first rule of the military, Ricken?" Walter asked.

"Always follow orders," Ricken sighed, as if from memory.

"Correct," Walter responded, "and Chrom's last order was to 'be good'. So, why don't we show him just how good you can be?"

Ricken caught onto his meaning immediately, and smirked deviously as Walter told him what to do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 **The Mad King**

Two and a half days later, the royal procession arrived at Border Pass, one of the few routes between Plegia and Ylisse that didn't involve attempting to cross the inhospitable northern desert. It was a sparsely vegetated, incredibly rocky mountain pass, with many locations that Walter was paranoid of; they could easily conceal multiple archers, or perhaps wyvern riders.

What stole his attention at the moment though, was the Plegian party. Judging by the outlandish outfit of their leader that Walter initially assumed was some dark mockery of a jester's outfit, he was staring down King Gangrel of Plegia. The orange-haired man was sneering at them haughtily, dressed in a black and yellow suit with a black cape, a large fur mantle across his shoulders. Beside him stood a woman that Walter initially took for a whore; her skin tight leather outfit did very little to hide her generous curves, and in fact promoted them. She gazed down upon the Ylisseans from the same outcropping that Gangrel did, grinning cruelly. _Pointless political posturing,_ Walter dismissed, in regards to their decision to stand on a cliff above them. What worried Walter more, however, were the dozens of infantry on the same level as they were, hefting axes and smirking. _This is almost certainly a trap,_ Walter cursed.

"Oh my, what have we here?" Gangrel said, initiating the 'negotiation'. "It is the Exalt, in all her radiance! I fear I must shield my eyes!" he laughed then, a crass, rough sound that grated on Walter's nerves.

"King Gangrel!" Emmeryn shouted up to the Plegian King, unperturbed by his flippant attitude, "I have come for the truth of this unfortunate incident between us!"

"Truth?" The king's apparent concubine purred. "I can give you the truth."

"Perhaps milady might first offer her name?" Emmeryn answered politely.

"Very well," the harlot answered. "You may call me Aversa. As for the truth, it is a simple thing." She then stepped aside, revealing Maribelle, kneeling next to a soldier, hands bound and head hung low. Walter was concerned to note that she was heavily bruised; who knew what else they had done to her? "Your duke's daughter crossed the Plegian border without our permission and injured the compassionate soldiers who sought only to escort her home. Furthermore-"

"You lying whore!" Duke Themis barked. The Duke had insisted on accompanying them, but Walter was beginning to think that was an unwise idea. "You Plegian bastards attacked my city!"

Maribelle's gaze shot up at the sound of her father's voice. "My father's right!" she snapped defiantly, suddenly full of life. "You speak nothing but lies, hag! Do they not teach the meaning of truth in wretched-crone school!?" She was silenced, however, by a wicked backhand from her guard. Duke Themis cursed as his daughter fell over into the dust with a cry of pain.

"You see?" Aversa stated with a sly grin. "Such a nasty bird just had to be caged."

"Her temperament is indicative of her guilt," Gangrel said, grinning evilly. "This calls for a weighty punishment."

"The only punishment will be yours, you heartless dog," Walter barked, fed up with their presumptuous nonsense, "when your end comes and your soul stands before the Lord to receive your final judgment!"

Gangrel glared at Walter, before grinning. "Oh, my dear," Gangrel said slyly, looking to Aversa. "Does that man not match the description of the other spy that got away?"

"I do believe it does," Aversa replied.

Walter growled and sucked in breath to shout a retort to these insufferable lunatics, but he was cut off.

"Enough, Walter!" Emmeryn scolded. Walter immediately wilted under her glare, despite being over a foot taller, a decade and a half older, and having seen countless horrors. Emmeryn then turned to Gangrel. "King Gangrel, I humbly ask you to release Lady Maribelle," she said. "Surely we can sort out these affairs without the need for hostages?"

"Without so much as an apology?" Gangrel asked in mock indignation. "Why should I? I'm perfectly entitled to have her head on a pike and be home in time for supper!"

"I'll see you dead first, you blackheart!" Chrom shouted angrily from Emmeryn's other side.

"Chrom!" Emmeryn hissed, but Gangrel simply smiled as if the idea amused him.

"Control your dogs, Your Graceliness," Gangrel replied jovially, before his voice turned dark. "Before someone gets hurt." At that, Maribelle's guard drew an axe, forced Maribelle back into a kneeling position, and placed the blade on her neck. The Ylisseans froze, Duke Themis cursing vehemently under his breath the entire time.

"Now," Gangrel said after clearing his throat. "Nobody needs to die today. Not her, not you, not anyone." He then grinned unnervingly wide. "You just need to give me the Fire Emblem, and you can have Mari Contrary here back in one piece." Most of the Ylisseans froze. Walter and Robin, however, were just confused.

"The Fire Emblem?" Emmeryn asked, nonplussed. "What would you want with Ylisse's royal treasure?"

"Does it matter?" Gangrel asked exasperatedly. "Do you think I don't know the legends? The Fire Emblem is the key to realizing one's desires!" he shouted, his voice bordering on unhinged. "Yet my birthday comes and goes every year, with nothing from House Ylisse," he bemoaned, his voice dramatically full of hurt.

"The Fire Emblem has but one purpose," Emmeryn responded, "to save the world in its hour of need. Would you claim such a noble wish?" she asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"I want what every Plegian wants," Gangrel responded. "A grisly end to every last Ylissean!"

"W-what?" Emmeryn stuttered, clearly thrown off by such a bold proclamation.

"Did you think we would forget the crimes of your father?" Gangrel said, spitting on the rocks. "That lunatic butchered countless of my subjects and kin! Two entire lines of the Plegian Royal Family completely eradicated, ending with my father when I was but a boy! And each of my people has a similar story! That butcher you call a father almost destroyed an entire generation!"

Walter was stunned by this proclamation. _"She told me 'Walter is much like our father in many ways, but his opposite in all of the ways that count' ….he was unrepentant until the end,_ Chrom's words echoed in his mind. He finally understood what he had meant. His own father was a war criminal. He had been wondering why he was so forgiving…

Emmeryn turned pale, but collected herself. "I have never denied Ylisse's past sins," she stated placatingly, "nor will I ever. But we are now a realm of peace!"

"Your nation is a haven of hypocrisy!" Gangrel roared. "Now, this negotiation is over, and you have my terms. Soldiers, bring me the Emblem!" With that, the soldiers in front of the delegation began closing in.

The Shepherds slowly edged their hands towards their weapons as the soldiers closed in menacingly. When he felt they had gotten too close, Chrom tore Falchion from its sheath and buried it to the hilt in the nearest soldier. He dropped to the ground, dead before Falchion had even left his chest.

"Stay back!" Chrom shouted, "Or you'll all suffer the same!"

"Oh, now _that's_ a declaration of war if I've ever heard one," Gangrel chuckled sinisterly. "A long, messy war that will bleed you Ylisseans dry!" He then walked out of sight beyond the ridge, leaving Aversa alone with Maribelle and her guard.

 _Now or never,_ Walter concluded as soldiers began appearing along the cliffs. He whistled loudly, earning strange looks from the other Shepherds.

"Robin…" Chrom muttered uneasily as the soldiers began advancing.

"Right, strategy," Robin said. "Captain Phila, get the Exalt and Duke Themis out of here! Do not stop until you reach Ylisse!" The captain nodded, but Duke Themis began protesting. "Save it, Duke Themis. Themis needs a Duke, and there's a chance we may not be able to save Maribelle." Duke Themis recoiled as if struck, before nodding resignedly and mounting his horse. The delegation then took off with all speed, back towards Ylisse.

"Frederick, Sully, Stahl, charge through the bulk of them, then mount the cliffs behind. Stop for nothing and no one." Frederick nodded, before the knights all mounted and took off toward the enemy troops. "Lon'qu, Donnel, Vaike, Sumia, Miriel, Virion, Lissa, Chrom, you're with me, we're going to move forward enough to secure a route up the cliff, and hold that position." Robin then turned to Walter. "Once we secure that cliff, I need you to scale it and hopefully rescue Maribelle before those bastards kill her." Walter grimaced. He hoped Ricken had heard the signal. He nodded, and followed the Shepherds into the fray.

Due to the narrow canyon pass, Walter found himself stuck in the rear with Miriel, Lissa, and Virion. This suited him just fine, however; he could cast magic as easily as he could swing his mace. He shot fire, lightning, and ice over the heads of his comrades (the last one earning an exclamation of amazement from Miriel), and they quickly broke the Plegian ranks.

"This path looks like it'll work!" Robin yelled as he removed his sword from a Plegian lancer's stomach. "Go, Walter!" Walter nodded, casting one last fireball at the back of the Plegian ranks, before hustling up the hill.

He was both relieved and concerned when he reached the top of the hill. Ricken had indeed heard his signal and was already hastening down the hill with Maribelle. Unfortunately, he was being pursued by four wyvern riders. The young mage was desperately casting wind spells up the hill, but the wyvern riders were apparently veterans, and managed to dodge most of them. Walter was further disconcerted when he saw even more soldiers and wyvern riders beginning to close the distance. There were too many, he realized. They couldn't possibly fend them all off long enough to regroup. Walter made another dangerous decision.

Walter mentally began an incantation, gathering up not just his own magical energy, but the ambient magical energy of his surroundings. He noticed Ricken's own spell falter and fade as Walter's spell absorbed even that. Ricken stared at his tome, confused, wondering if he had somehow screwed it up. As Walter finished the incantation, he channeled the magic into his mace and thrust it into the air.

"Meteor!" Walter cried. A single burst of red light shot up, disappearing into the clouds.

At first, nothing happened. But then, the overcast sky began taking an orange tint. The wyvern riders, stopped, confused at the changing light, and looked up. Just as they looked up, a burning fireball, a large meteor, forced its way through the clouds, bearing in on the general area of the wyvern riders' position. They were so transfixed by the sight that they didn't think to move, before the first meteor collided with one of the riders, forcing him to the earth beneath hundreds of pounds of flaming rock. The rock collided with the earth with such force that it shattered with a violent boom, throwing the shards through the air as dangerous shrapnel. Another wyvern rider fell as his mount's wings were shredded, its natural armor broken by the rocks, and the remaining two panicked and began maneuvering evasively as another meteor crashed down, followed shortly by another. .

Walter quickly paled, however; the meteor barrage was far from done, and those few strikes had already sent several boulders cascading down the cliffs, fortunately not crushing any of his own allies. He doubted they would remain so lucky.

"Move!" he shouted to the two young Shepherds, who were staring in awe at the destruction that he had caused. They snapped out of it at Walter's shout, quickly realizing their predicament. The three then sprinted down the hill. They did not stop, however, when they reached their allies. Fortunately, Frederick and the other cavaliers were returning now, forced off of the cliffs by the meteor barrage. The Plegians, completely unprepared for such a barrage, were in full retreat.

"Walter!" Robin shouted in shock as they neared and began running past them. "What in the gods' name did you do!?"

"The most powerful fire spell I know!" Walter shouted back simply, wincing as another meteor struck nearby. "I did not think it would collapse the pass, we must flee!"

"You heard the man!" Chrom shouted. "Move!" The Shepherds then began fleeing, desperately dodging stray meteors and covering their ears against the tremendous explosions of their impacts. Their feet pounded over the rocky earth, occasionally slipping on loose stones. A part of Walter told him they wouldn't make it. He quickly silenced it and kept running.

Eventually, the rocky earth gave way to dustier, compact earth. They had escaped the pass. The Shepherds turned around and watched in amazement as the meteor barrage continued, culminating in a tremendous rockslide that rendered the pass impassible. A few more meteors hit, before the skies returned to their stormy hue, and the barrage ceased.

"By the gods," Chrom gasped, doubled over and breathing heavily. Most of the other Shepherds were similarly winded. "That was… effective."

Walter laughed at that, leaning against a tree and heaving. "Yes, it was," he replied. "I really wish I had used Lightning instead."

"For the love of all that is holy," Robin added, "next time, tell us before you use some world-ending doom spell." The rest of the Shepherds gave nervous, almost hysterical laughs at that.

"Duly noted," Walter replied, chuckling himself.

Chrom was the first to straighten up. "Come on," he urged. "Destroying that pass may delay them, but their army will find another pass or simply go around the mountain range. We must return to Ylisstol."

000

The Shepherds had marched at breakneck pace through the night to reach Ylisstol by the next day. Even so, it was sunset when they arrived, exhausted and battle-worn.

Chrom had, surprisingly, congratulated Ricken and apologized for not bringing him along willingly. Ricken, for his part, didn't say it was Walter's idea, and he was not going to argue that. After all, he didn't want Chrom to think he was going to make a habit of undermining him, which he wasn't.

Most of the Shepherds retired to their rooms immediately upon return. Robin had walked into the castle, claiming that he was asked to attend the Council with Chrom. Walter, on the other hand, was sitting up in the common room four hours later, drinking slowly but steadily at his second mug of ale. He hadn't even bothered removing his armor yet. He rarely drank alcohol, but sometimes the occasion would call for it.

Like the start of a war.

Walter grimaced as he remembered his outburst at the pass. It had been foolish, reckless, and most importantly _not his place._ He had contributed to the degradation of an already precarious negotiation. He had likely contributed to starting a war.

"Is the ale that bad?" a voice said from beside him. Looking up, he saw Robin standing there, a mug in his own hand.

Walter chuckled dryly. "No," Walter responded, gesturing for Robin to sit. "Simply remembering my…inappropriate comments at the negotiation."

"Don't worry yourself over it," Robin said with a shrug as he took a deep drag of his own ale. "King Gangrel was insistent upon war to begin with, you heard him. Even if everyone had acted perfectly, he would have just invented a reason.

Walter simply shrugged. "Perhaps," he responded unsurely. "How goes the strategizing?"

Robin grimaced. "I'm here with a mug of ale that's mostly empty already instead of working," he said dryly. "That should tell you everything you need to know." Walter laughed, and Robin even chuckled along. "Chrom has some unbearable horse's arse named Thorne on the War Council," Robin explained. "The man seems to hate the lowborn, and argues against every strategy I suggest because of it. The man also seems to only listen to Emmeryn, and she's 'away discussing diplomatic matters with a foreign dignitary', whatever that means. So, he's basically being an unbearable nuisance. I caught Duke Themis giving him a death glare when he wasn't looking."

Walter empathized. "Many nobles are like that," he said sagely as he drained his glass. "You had best get used to it, working so closely with the royal family."

Robin laughed and drained his own glass. "Come on," Robin said, standing up. Walter shot him a curious glance, and stood up himself. "We're going for a walk."

"Robin, we just returned from a two day march," Walter reminded.

"What, your old bones can't handle it?" Robin replied smarmily. Walter grimaced in disapproval, and Robin laughed. "Come on, I need to stretch my legs before I go to bed, and walks are better with company."

Walter conceded with a sigh and nodded, and Robin led them out of the barracks.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 **Forseer**

"Chrom?" Robin asked in confusion as the two noticed Chrom strolling across the grounds. "What are you still doing awake? You said you were going to bed."

Chrom started; he had been so focused on his own thoughts he hadn't noticed them coming. "Hello Robin, Walter," he greeted, before grimacing. "I'm just…dueling with some unpleasant thoughts."

"Care to share?" Robin chided. Walter rolled his eyes at the silly rhyme.

Chrom chuckled, before growing serious. "Gangrel is certainly mad, but there was truth to what he said," Chrom stated solemnly. "My father, the previous Exalt, declared a crusade against Plegia."

"Why?" Walter asked in wonder. He had already concluded that Chrom's father was a war criminal, but he had wondered what his motivation was.

"Religion," Chrom ground out. "The Plegians are largely atheistic or polytheistic, but a significant portion of them are Grimleal, worshippers of the Fell Dragon that my ancestor slew a thousand years ago."

"Grimleal... where have I heard…" Robin muttered, before snapping his fingers and glancing down at his robes warily. "Frederick said before that these were Grimleal robes."

"The colors, black, yellow, and gold match," Chrom conceded, "but the iconography on it doesn't match anything we know of the Grimleal. I think Frederick was grasping for reasons not to trust you," Chrom chuckled.

"Your father declared war on them?" Walter said, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

"Yes," Chrom answered, sobering up. "He declared the war just before Emmeryn was born. It lasted for almost a decade. My father, as I've told you before Walter, was a hard man. He was cruel to the Plegians, razing countless villages and killing thousands in a genocidal campaign." He shook his head. "The war was not any kinder to the halidom, however. At first, we relied on our active garrisons, but those were quickly burnt out. Then farmers who could barely wield a pitchfork were conscripted and sent off to their deaths, leaving no one to grow food. Within a year, the halidom began to collapse, and the people were starving." Chrom then took a deep breath, then exhaled. "He was killed, shortly after Lissa's own birthday. He and my mother both, forced to surrender and slain on the spot."

"Gods, Chrom, I'm so sorry," Robin said sympathetically.

"At age nine, Emmeryn was forced to assume the throne," Chrom continued. "She inherited our father's 'legacy'. Plegia's desire for vengeance, our own peoples' unbridled rage…she became a target for blame on both sides. Her own subjects began to hurl insults-and stones. She still bears the scars from one. But she never let them see her pain. Only Lissa and I understood."

"I cannot imagine what it must be like," Walter wondered aloud, "to bear such vitriol with grace and mercy."

"I cannot claim to know how she does it, Walter," Chrom responded, nodding. "While bearing the weight of an entire continent's hatred on her shoulders, she stood above it, reached out and healed our people. And when the halidom was restored, and the people 'forgave' her? She didn't hold it against them. Emmeryn represents the best of Ylisse, the part most worth protecting. She _is_ peace," Chrom stated emphatically, before his expression turned grim. "But some men, like King Gangrel, would take advantage of that. The day Gangrel understands peace will be the day death gives it to him. Emmeryn would never wish him killed, nor would I want her to…but perhaps I must be Death's agent."

Walter nodded in approval. As much as Emmeryn wished otherwise, sometimes the right outcome was reached by the "wrong" means. Clinging to sentimentality beyond the point of reason does more harm than good.

"Well spoken, sir," a voice said behind them. The three wheeled around to see Marth standing behind them.

"You," Chrom said, shocked. "How did you get into the castle?"

"The cleft in the wall, behind the maple grove," Marth replied lightly. Chrom looked shocked, while Walter and Robin were just confused.

"You know the place, Chrom?" Robin said, seeing the look on Chrom's face.

"Yes, I bashed in part of the wall training with Vaike," Chrom said absently.

"You broke a _stone wall_ with practice weapons?" Walter wondered in shock.

"I had thought the hole small and well concealed," Chrom said worriedly.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Marth consoled him, before suddenly shuffling nervously. "Would you believe me if I told you I had seen the future? A future where the Exalt is killed. Here. Tonight."

Walter immediately bristled, and drew his mace. "I would say you have lost your wits…or you are one of the assassins," Walter growled warningly.

Marth sighed in resignation. "I had thought as much," he answered. He then drew his own sword, prompting Robin and Chrom to each draw theirs. "I'm going to save your life," Marth stated, before turning is head behind him and looking at a nondescript bush. "From him."

A small curse issued from the bush, before a figure burst out of the foliage, dashing madly toward Chrom. Marth intercepted him, however, with the copy of Falchion to his stomach. The assassin collapsed to the ground, gurgling.

"I trust this proof will suffice?" Marth said. The three nodded and lowered their weapons.

At that point, however, a second assassin leapt from a nearby tree, drawing a sword in midair and cleaving at Marth. Marth desperately backpedaled, fumbling for his sword, but slipped on the dead assassin's blade. The living one's slash rang as it connected with something steel, as Marth continued falling down.

Walter quickly cast a fireball, connecting between the assassin's shoulder blades. The assassin screamed in agony, before Chrom's true Falchion cut into his spine. The bandit collapsed to the ground, dead.

Walter noted with no small amount of surprise that Marth was, in fact, a woman as he… _she_ … stood back up.

"You're….you're a woman?" Chrom stated for the rest of them.

"Yes, and apparently quite the actress too," Marth stated, her voice now several octaves higher and decidedly amused. "I'm surprised that you didn't figure it out until just now."

Walter was about to speak up, inquire as to what was going on, before a large explosion blew out one of the upper windows of the palace.

"Let's move!" Marth shouted, sprinting into the castle. The three Shepherds were right behind her.

000

"Your end has come!" Chrom snarled as he drove Falchion into yet another assassin. The palace was _crawling_ with them. The explosion had alerted the entire castle, and the halls were filled with guards fighting the assassins. They were losing, however; the assassins were coordinated and very deadly, and the guards were almost completely unprepared for an attack of such magnitude.

Walter turned to his next target, a ginger haired man in unkempt clothing, and raised his mace. The assassin quickly threw down his sword though, and kneeled, placing his hands above his head in supplication.

"Whoa there old timer," the young man said nervously, "I'm not here for no assassination."

"Chrom!" Walter barked. Chrom turned back, observed the situation for a second, and broke away from the fight temporarily, where Marth and Robin were still tearing apart the assassins.

"Did he surrender?" Chrom asked shortly.

"Yes. But we can't afford to leave an assassin unguarded. Neither can we afford to leave one of us here to guard him. That leaves us only one choice: kill him."

"Look, I already said I ain't here to kill the Exalt," The thief pleaded. "She's a sweet lady, I'd never do that. Rob her blind, sure, but not kill her. I'm just a thief. I got a lead on a job, said they wanted to break into the palace. I signed up for loot, not for blood."

"I still say we kill him, Prince Chrom," Walter suggested lightly. The thief paled.

Chrom, however, had other ideas. "How about you prove those honest intentions?"

"What? You wanna _hire_ me?" The thief asked incredulously, before grinning shrewdly. "Maybe I'll risk my life fighting a bunch of assassins…if you sweeten the deal first."

Chrom scoffed in disgust."Gold is it? Fine then, we need all the help we can get, whatever you-" he cut himself off and cursed as another pouch fell off of his belt as he reached for his gold.

"What's in the bag/" the thief asked, suddenly intensely interested in the bag.

"Just candies my sister made," Chrom said dismissively. "I'm sure you don't-"

"Candies?" the thief reiterated. "As in sugar candies?" Walter was perturbed by the deranged look in the thief's eyes.

"Y-yes?" Chrom stammered in confusion. "I assume they'd be sweet-"

"DEAL!" the thief exclaimed wildly, diving for the bag. Walter jumped back out of reflex, and the thief ripped open the bag and popped a piece of candy into his mouth. "Gods, your sister makes good candy," Gaius moaned ecstatically. Walter and Chrom exchanged looks of bewilderment. "Name's Gaius, at your service, milord," he said with a mocking bow.

"You would risk your life…" Chrom clarified slowly, as if Gaius would explode if he spoke too quickly, "for a bag of candy?"

"I said 'sweeten the deal', didn't I?" Gaius responded condescendingly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll take the gold too. Later…unless you have more of these candies?"

Chrom just groaned in exasperation and placed his hand over his face. "I'll ask my sister," he muttered in bemusement. Robin and Marth had walked back to them at this point, wondering where the others had gone. Walter noticed that Marth looked completely unsurprised to see the thief. _How much does she know?_ He wondered suspiciously.

"Righty-o," Gaius proclaimed, before immediately going to the nearest door and beginning to pick the lock.

"What are you doing?" Walter asked suspiciously.

"Look, Chuckles," Gaius said, whirling around, "The assassins are already two floors below the Exalt's chambers, and no offense, but your guards are hardly slowing them down. This isn't my first break-in in the palace, I know of a shortcut that will-"

They were interrupted by a blood-curdling howl and a tremendous crash. They all ran over to the nearby banister, providing a view of the Great Hall four floors below them. Walter was disturbed to see what looked like a _giant, red eyed rabbit_ running roughshod through the battlefield, viciously tearing at everything that attacked it; and everything attacked it. Walter was grimly amused to see a guard and an assassin look at each other briefly, nod once, and promptly die when they tried to attack the beast. Walter noticed the rest of the Shepherds trailing in behind her slowly, trying to chase after the giant beast.

"Gods," Chrom stated in horror. "Walter, change of plans," he stated gravely. "Get down there, and kill that-"

"Hold!" Marth interrupted. "Lady Panne is not your enemy."

"You know that…her?" Chrom corrected himself, struggling to do so as it let out another blood-curdling howl.

"I know…of her," Marth said uneasily. "She is a friend; she will help you save the Exalt."

"And how do you know …right, future knowledge," Chrom said sarcastically. "Alright, fine. Gaius, get that door open. Everyone else, keep an eye out for this 'Panne'; attack her only if she attacks you."

Walter simply shrugged. This night had passed a certain threshold of strangeness that his brain just didn't want to bother trying to comprehend. First, he found out that Prince Chrom apparently possessed the strength to rend a stone wall with a dull sword. Then, an apparently omniscient woman, masquerading as a man, had killed an assassin with a perfect replica of a unique holy blade. Then, a thief had sold out his own comrades for candy. Then, a giant man-eating rabbit had torn into the palace and attacked everything in sight, but was apparently friendly.

Walter didn't even know why he tried to rationalize these things anymore. Ylisse was a strange place.

A second later, Gaius got the doors open, and the four hastened into the servant passages. The space was cramped and uncomfortable, especially for Walter in his bulky armor. Gaius navigated them through a veritable network of tunnels, heading steadily upward the entire time.

Eventually, they came out on the floor of the Royal Apartments. The guards on this floor were consolidating around the two staircases into this wing of the palace, but the sounds of fighting were uncomfortably close.

"Guards, if you see a giant rabbit, let it pass!" Chrom yelled. The guards turned and looked at their prince like the man was mad, but nodded skeptically and turned their eyes back down the stairwell. The sounds of fighting were even closer now. Chrom sprinted down the passageway to his sister's bedroom, Gaius remaining behind to "hold the exit", as he put it. Chrom quickly ripped open the door-

Nothing. The room was completely empty. Untouched, void of signs of battle.

"Damn," Chrom cursed. "I was hoping to avoid this…"

"What is it?" Walter asked.

"During the Council meeting, King Gerald returned," Chrom said with a grimace. "Emmeryn left to go speak with him in…." His face then paled as the signs of battle broke out in the halls outside. "…in the Royal Conference Room. They're on the floor below us," he realized gravely.

A floor currently swimming in assassins.

"Back downstairs!" Walter barked. The Shepherds then turned and sprinted back into the hallway, only for a jet of fire to almost scorch them. The three whirled around to see a single man, standing amidst the charred remains of the guards on the left stairwell.

The man was extremely tall, a head taller than even Walter, with dark skin and well-trimmed facial hair. His pointed features were twisted into a scowl as he began striding down the hallway. He stopped halfway, however, staring wide eyed at the Shepherds. Or rather, one of them. Robin shifted nervously under the man's predatory gaze. He then clutched his head and gasped in pain. The man, obviously the assassins' leader, then smiled sinisterly, pulling a dark violet tome from his ornate purple and gold robes.

"Oh ho ho," he chuckled cruelly. "Fate does truly pile gifts at my feet tonight! For so many years I have sought you out…only to find you on the night of my greatest triumph." The man's grin then faded as he noticed the open door to Emmeryn's apartment. "The Exalt is not on this floor, is she?" he asked. The Shepherds didn't answer, but they didn't have to. "No matter. I will simply dispose of you, and then hunt her down afterward."

"Robin, you know where she is. Take Walter, go to her and protect her." Chrom ordered. He then leveled Falchion at the sorcerer, Marth doing the same.

The sorcerer frowned when he fully noticed Marth and Walter. "Two of these actors do not belong on this stage," he said, his brow furrowing. "It matters little. I shall simply remove you myself!" With that, he cast another jet of flame, this time purple, down the hall at the Shepherds. They struggled to avoid it in the confined space, and Robin yelped in pain as it clipped him. He was still in pain, disorienting him and making him sluggish.

"Robin, go, now!" Chrom cried desperately, charging the enemy commander. The sorcerer manipulated the flame in his hand into a glove of sorts, and slapped Chrom's blade aside. Marth charged to join him.

Walter did not wait any longer. He scooped up Robin, still clutching his head in agony, and carried him back to the servant's passage as Marth and Chrom desperately dueled with the sorcerer.

"Whoa, Chuckles, what's wrong with Bubbles?" Gaius asked.

Walter simply grimaced. "The Royal Conference Room. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, why?" Gaius asked. "Exalt not in her room?"

"Yes, lead us there, quickly."

"Right," Gaius said grimly, before beckoning them back down the servant's passage.

After a minute or so of walking, Walter groaned weakly from Walter's back "You can put me down now, I think," The tactician said dazedly. Walter obliged, gingerly setting the man back down on his feet. He swayed for a minute, but soon gathered his bearings.

"Are you alright?" Walter asked, concerned.

"Yes," Robin replied distractedly. "That sorcerer. I think it was the dark magic aura or…something…" he said. "I just felt a huge pain in my head."

"Is it gone now? Can you fight?" Walter asked him.

"Yeah, I'm fine now," Robin said, his voice getting stronger. "Let's just hope those two have that sorcerer under control. Let's get moving."

Another minute later and Gaius led them out of a servant's passage, around the corner from the conference room, according to Gaius. As they went to round the corner however, Walter heard a series of twanging sounds, and quickly pulled the others back. A half second later, at least eight arrows imbedded themselves in the wall where they would have been.

"Gerald, more of them on this side!" a voice rang out. A voice Walter recognized.

"You're on your own for now, Ellen!" came Gerald's faint reply "There are dozens of them coming this way!"

 _Here goes nothing,_ Walter thought resignedly.

"Hold your fire!" Walter cried. He received no response. "We're coming out; we're here to rescue the Exalt!"

Walter prepared to move his shield between himself and the arrows he was sure would come. He stepped around the corner cautiously, slowly, but thankfully, there was no barrage of arrows. He gestured for the others to follow, and slowly walked down the hall to where Ellen was standing. To his right, Walter could see down into the great hall, where a few assassins and guards were still fighting. Many more on both sides were dead, however.

The Half-Elf glared hatefully at Walter. "What are you doing here, murderer?" Ellen spat viciously. "I have more restraint than Gerald, but I certainly won't stop him when he sees you and tries to kill you."

Walter sighed in frustration. He would never outlive his crimes, it seemed. "There are more important things at stake right now than my crimes," Walter told her shortly. "The Exalt's life is in danger."

"No, really?" Ellen proclaimed in mock surprise. "I would never have guessed!" she said, gesturing around to the dozens of bodies already decorating the corridor. "As much as I think she's an idiot for harboring you, I think she's a sweet woman, and don't want her dead. Look, moron, how about this? You send your friend in the outfit suspiciously similar to their leader's down by Gerald, where he can keep an eye on him," Ellen ordered. "You stay on that end of the hallway, far the hell away from me, but close enough for me to keep an eye on you. Your smelly slob of a friend stays with you, and I stand by this door, shooting anything that tries to slip by. Do you think you can handle that? Or is fighting armed opponents outside of your skill range?"

Walter frowned, but said nothing about her jabs. "That works well enough," he conceded. "Robin, go aid Gerald. Gaius, with me." Walter then turned back to Ellen. "Thank you."

"For what?" Ellen snapped. "I don't want anything from you. Least of all your gratitude."

"Not shooting me on sight." Walter replied simply, before he turned to man his position at the end of the hallway.

After a second of walking, however, Ellen spoke up. "We were there, you know," she suddenly said, her voice still hateful, but now containing a note of sorrow.

Walter stopped and turned partially around. "What do you mean?"

"Gerald was in charge of the patrol that found Greyhampton," Ellen clarified. "I was his adjutant at the time. All I can find myself wondering, now, is how many of those mutilated bodies were caused by your own hands." She then shook her head, looking down, and her tone became cold and bitter. "Most of Hironeiden doesn't even remember the massacre anymore. They don't care, it was long ago. Nobody in the general populace knows who did it." She then glared hard at Walter. "But Gerald and I? We will never forget."

Walter simply nodded in acceptance, before turning around at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Hey, Chuckles," Gaius said nervously, "You do know I'm not exactly a frontline combatant, right?"

Walter scoffed. "Of course you aren't. Do you have any ranged weapons?"

Gaius then grinned smartly and pulled open his cloak. Lining the inside of it was an array of curious throwing weapons. Some were shaped like stars, some were shaped like daggers with a ring at the handle, and others still were just simple daggers. There were _dozens_ of knives. Walter also noticed a curious, curved sword not unlike Lon'qu's hanging from his belt, but doubted it was used often. "You could say that," he replied, still grinning.

Walter chuckled. "That will work." It was at that point that the first assassin rounded the corner. Quicker than Walter could track, Gaius had pulled one of the star-shaped throwing weapons and thrown it expertly. It embedded itself in the assassin's eye, eliciting a scream. Walter drew his mace, and put the poor bastard out of his misery. Then, two more assassins rounded the corner, and the battle began in earnest.

The combined defense of the five combatants quickly and easily repelled the now-disorganized assaults of the assassins. What few managed to slip by in a desperate bid for the Exalt met their end, either by arrow or by rapier.

Walter then heard something loud bounding down the hallway, and over a dozen terrified, agonized screams. He then realized what it was.

"Ellen, do not fire!" Walter shouted as he pushed Gaius against the wall on the inside of the corner. A half second later, the giant rabbit, Panne if Walter remembered her name correctly, came streaking around the corner, almost sliding into the wall. Ignoring the two of them, she bounded up to Ellen, who drew her rapier in panic.

"Move, man-spawn! I shall only ask once!" the rabbit snarled in a distorted, flanged voice. _This thing can talk?_ Walter wondered aloud. Ellen shot Walter an incredulous glance down the hallway as Panne began growling and lowering herself, preparing to pounce. Walter nodded in encouragement. Looking between Walter and Panne with looks of incredulity and defensiveness, respectively, she slowly stepped aside.

"Smart move, man-spawn," Panne said haughtily, before bounding past Ellen, facing her rear to the door, and delivering a powerful kick to it. The door splintered into dozens of pieces, and the rabbit squeezed herself into the door.

Walter dared a glance back down the hallway, and resisted the urge to vomit; every assassin in that hallway had been utterly mutilated. But, mutilated was dead, and dead meant no longer a threat.

Walter sheathed his mace, still remaining alert, and moved to regroup with Ellen at the door to the conference room. A minute later, the combined forces of the Shepherds came down the opposite hall, crushing the last of the assassins between them, Gerald, and Robin.

The battle was over, Walter realized. He quickly bypassed Ellen, stepped over the remains of the doors, and entered the conference room.

Inside was the Exalt, standing calmly in front of a ruggedly beautiful woman dressed in purple leather with brown hair. A pair of two long, floppy _ears_ dangled from the top of her head.

 _A shapeshifter,_ Walter realized as he began striding toward them.

"Brave taguel, there are not words enough to express my gratitude," Emmeryn stated with a humble bow. _What royalty bows to others?_ Walter wondered incredulously.

"You know our species' true name?" Panne answered. "That is rare. Yes, I am a taguel. The- the last, taguel," she added quietly, sorrowfully, before returning to a confident tone. "Not like the man-spawn cared when they killed my race."

"The last taguel?" Emmeryn responded, shocked. "I can hardly believe anyone would do this…"

"Do not act so surprised," Panne scoffed. "Man-spawn destroyed my warren when I was still a kit. My warren was the last." She then shook her head. "You humans destroy and ruin all you touch. Nothing more so than each other," she spat. "It is a great wonder you have not wiped yourself from the earth."

" _You!_ " A voice shouted from the doorway. Walter turned in panic to see Gerald several feet behind him in the doorway, seething and holding his greatsword. He began to raise it, but Robin, Frederick, and Stahl all jumped on him, restraining him. Soon, they had dragged him out of sight, but Walter could hear them struggling even as they rounded the corner.

"Do you see?" Panne said smugly. "You cannot go even five minutes without engaging in violence. Now that my warren's debt is repaid, I am washing my hands of your race."

"There is truth in your words, perhaps," Emmeryn conceded painfully. "I have read that in taguel society, everyone was treated as an equal." _That explains the bowing, then_ , Walter supposed _Panne would likely not care about the Exalt's authority, even in her own home, and such a gesture could earn the taguel's respect_. "We could have learned much from your warren. My words may come too late and mean too little, but I am deeply sorry. We have stolen your friends and family, and made the world a lesser place."

"You would claim to be blameless, but then apologize?" Panne responded incredulously. "Pah. Your words are but wind."

"You may be right," Emmeryn responded, sounding hurt. "But regardless, they are all I have."

Panne's hard gaze then softened, somewhat. "You understand my pain as your own. I have never encountered that before… Look at me," she then demanded. "See what I am. I will never trust mankind… but perhaps you are different from the others."

"All I ask is for a chance to earn your trust," Emmeryn answered with a smile.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 **The Flight to Regna Ferox**

"It will take time to investigate how the assassination plot got so far," Captain Phila said an hour later. In the conference room stood Emmeryn, Captain Phila, Chrom, Robin, Walter at Emmeryn's request, Ellen, and a barely-contained Gerald. Walter did not need to even look at the man to know that he was murdering him a thousand times over in his mind. "We have no leads at present."

"It was Plegia, I'm sure of it," Chrom exclaimed. "Sister, it's not safe here. Come with us to Regna Ferox while we go to mobilize their army."

"And leave Ylisse without their ruler in a time of war?" Emmeryn asked rhetorically. "No. I will remain. The people of Ylisse must know that their Exalt stands with them."

"And if the assassins return?" Chrom retorted. "What if they succeed next time? What then?"

"Your Grace, if I may?" Frederick interjected. "Perhaps you could relocate to Castle Draug for the time being? It is on the other side of the eastern mountains. The other kingdoms know nothing of it, and you would be safer there."

"Yes, please, at least that," Chrom pleaded. "I can't leave for Regna Ferox to get more soldiers with you right in harm's way."

Emmeryn sighed in defeat. It seemed even the Exalt was not all-powerful. "Very well," she conceded. "We shall depart in the morning." She then turned to Gerald. "King Gerald, if you remain simply to demand we turn Walter over to you, I am afraid you are wasting your time."

"No," Gerald bit out, "you're the one wasting your time trying to redeem a murderer. Just let me execute him, as he rightfully deserves, and I will leave without a fuss."

"Walter has done nothing of the sort here in Ylisse," Emmeryn responded sternly. "On the contrary, he has saved both of my siblings, a small village, and one of our largest cities through his efforts. He has shown nothing but reticence and a desire to do good."

"Only because it serves his ends," Gerald retorted. "You wouldn't be the first sovereign he betrayed."

Most of the people in the room shot Walter a curious glance, but Emmeryn simply shot Gerald a disapproving frown. "We have had this argument once before, King Gerald," Emmeryn responded firmly. "I cannot, in good conscience, turn Walter over to you. He is a citizen of Ylisse now. He is one of my people, and I will not abandon him to his death, regardless of his crimes. My own people gave me the opportunity to redeem the sins of my father, which far outstrip Walter's own. I cannot pretend to represent the will of Ylisse when I deny one of its citizens the right to redemption."

"There _is_ no redemption for what he did," Gerald insisted hotly.

"Your Grace, I may have a solution," Walter interjected, an idea popping into his mind. A reckless, dangerous, probably awful idea, but an idea nonetheless.

"Speak, Walter," Emmeryn said kindly.

"Here we go," Gerald said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

"King Gerald," Walter said, addressing the Hironeiden sovereign, "Who watches over Hironeiden while you and Ellen are here?"

"Our son, Glen," Gerald said, his tone incredibly hostile. "Why?"

"How long can he remain as King-Regnant?" Walter then asked.

"As long as he has to," Gerald said with a shrug. "Regnier warned us that we might be gone a very long time when he brought us here." _Regnier brought him here? For what purpose?_ Walter wondered. "Glen is prepared to assume the throne permanently. Again, _why_?" Gerald asked, his tone becoming even more hostile.

"The Exalt refuses to turn me over, for which I am thankful beyond words," he said with a respectful bow of his head to the Exalt, who returned it with a serene smile. "You, however, do not trust me to serve Ylisse faithfully. Your lack of trust is not unwarranted," he admitted shamefully, before shaking his head. "My solution, plainly said, is that you should remain here to watch over me. You do not attempt to kill me or leave me to die, but the second I betray or harm Ylisse, you are free to do as you wish."

The entire room was silent at this proposal. Gerald in particular was so shocked that the hate dropped from his face momentarily.

"Wow," Ellen spoke up with a laugh. "That has got to be one of the dumbest-"

"Done," Gerald said definitively. Ellen whipped her head around to Gerald so fast Walter was surprised he didn't hear her neck crack.

"Gerald, you're joking, right?" Ellen asked concernedly. "I saw that hammer user graze your head. Are you feeling ill?"

"Not at all," Gerald said, staring straight at Walter with murderous glee. "It's only a matter of time until this bastard breaks his end of the bargain, and you can be _sure_ that I will be there to finally deliver the justice he deserves. Wherever it happens, whenever it happens." Gerald then looked to Emmeryn. "That is if, Her Holiness is willing to agree to it." Walter did a double take at that title, before sadly remembering that the Patriarchy of Ecclesia no longer existed. _They likely call her that because of her title as "Exalt", and its religious connotations,_ Walter reasoned.

Emmeryn stood there, her lips drawn in a thin line. She looked directly at Walter, her gaze intense. "Are you sure about this, Walter?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Walter responded. "This is the best solution I can think of. It allows me to live and serve Ylisse, and prevents King Gerald from pursuing his vengeance while we are at war, and possibly changing the course of a vital battle in order to kill me," he explained.

"It's justice, not vengeance," Gerald countered hotly, but Emmeryn raised her hand to silence him. Surprisingly he did indeed fall silent.

"Very well, Walter," Emmeryn said. "If you believe this is best."

"It is the best we will get, Your Grace," Walter replied.

"If you don't mind, Your Holiness," Ellen spoke up, "I'll be remaining here with Gerald as well. I still think this is a really stupid idea, but Gerald is full of those." The assembled people laughed, while Gerald rolled his eyes and continued glowering at Walter. "I've saved him from his bad ideas from the first day we met; it's practically my job."

"That is perfectly fine, Queen Ellen," Emmeryn responded. She then turned to Frederick. "Sir Frederick, please ensure one of the royal guest bedrooms are-"

"No need for that, Your Grace," Gerald interrupted. "I spent the first twenty-five years of my life as a soldier. Barracks are luxurious by my standards." As Emmeryn began to protest, Gerald spoke up again. "In fact, I insist on the _exact same_ barracks that Walter is staying in."

Emmeryn pursed her lips, before sighing and nodding. "Very well, King Gerald. If you require anything, you have but to ask. We will keep a room reserved for you, in case you change your mind."

"Noted," Gerald said, before turning and glaring at Walter. "Congratulations, murderer," Gerald said with a vicious grin, "You're going to have a permanent shadow." With that, he stormed from the room.

Ellen sighed as Gerald slammed the door behind him. She then looked at Walter. "Personally, I'm content with just leaving you to rot here in Ylisse," Ellen admitted. "You're no threat to Hironeiden, not without knowing how to open the Gateway. But, Gerald needs the closure. It's been thirty years, and I can assure you he wants you dead as much as the day he found out that you're the one that massacred Greyhampton. Just hurry and screw up so Gerald can kill you, and we can go home to our son." She then followed her husband from the room, closing the door only slightly less forcefully.

"A couple of rays of sunshine, they are," Robin said dryly.

"Their rage is justified, Robin," Walter pointed out remorsefully.

"Justified or not," Robin countered, "you're our friend, and I'm not a fan of people casually threatening to murder my friends. Not only that, but now I have to work two people into my tactics that will likely refuse to be parted from you."

"I am sorry for inflicting this pain on you," Walter said sardonically, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, you're sorry and I'm a taguel," Robin snorted. The rest of them laughed.

"The hour grows late," Emmeryn said as the laughter died down. "Rest, Shepherds. We will leave at midday tomorrow." With that, Phila ushered them out of the conference room, and the Shepherds dispersed to their own lodgings for the night.

000

The next morning, Walter trudged out into the hallway from his barracks room, only to see Ellen leaning against the door in the hallway, still fully armored, glaring at him.

"Queen Ellen," Walter greeted warily. "Good morning."

"Whatever, scumbag," she said with a tired sigh. "Don't move from that spot for a second." She then walked over to the room next to his, which Gerald and Ellen had appropriated, and banged on the door twice. She then turned back to Walter. "Personally, even I think Gerald's being extreme right now," she mumbled irritably, "but one of us is going to have an eye on you, every hour of the day." The door to her room opened and Gerald walked out, still fully armored himself. "Good night, Gerald," she groaned as she trundled back into her room, closing the door behind her.

Walter sighed as Gerald glared. "Good morning, King Gerald," he greeted exasperatedly.

"Good morning, murderer," Gerald greeted stoically, his face set into a slight frown. "As Ellen just told you, one of us is going to be with you at all times. Get used to it."

"I am honored to be escorted by the King and Queen of Hironeiden themselves," Walter said, rolling his eyes, as he turned and walked into the common room. He had anticipated being watched closely, but Gerald was being simply ridiculous.

Walter, one of the few early risers in the Shepherds, walked into an almost barren common room. The only ones awake, aside from himself and Gerald, were Virion and Robin at one table, and the taguel, Panne sitting by herself in a corner beside an empty suit of orange armor, glowering at the "man-spawn" arrayed before her. He could hear Stahl make an exclamation of surprise from the kitchen; he was apparently on food preparation duty today. From what he had heard of Stahl's cooking skills, it would be a good meal.

"Good morning Walter!" Robin called cheerily, gesturing to an empty seat to his right. Gerald took another empty seat, glaring at Walter silently. Walter took it, helping himself to the platter of bacon in the center of the table. "How did you sleep?"

"Well," Walter replied around a mouthful of bacon. He then swallowed. "Before I left for Themis, I was hoping to speak with you."

"Really?" Robin replied, curious. "What about?"

"Bersian tactics," Walter replied simply. "I fear that Regnier has brought an army, or may do so if he has not already, undoubtedly seeking to conquer Bersia."

"I doubt it," Gerald interrupted. The three others looked at him curiously. "Regnier brought Ellen and I to this world to help save it."

"Save it?" Robin asked warily. "From what?"

"He wouldn't say," Gerald said in frustration. "Thirty years, and he still refuses to divulge much of what he knows of the world. And the worlds beyond it, apparently; I had no idea there was anything beyond Bersia."

"I would advise against trusting that monster," Walter warned Gerald. "He is a servant of the Devil, and filled with dark power."

Gerald simply shot Walter a condescending look. "It's amazing how ignorant one person can be. Being bound to the Ancient Heart wasn't his choice," Gerald said. "He was killed, and revived by his friends with the Ancient Heart to keep fighting. He's no servant of Encablossa either; his knowledge was critical in imprisoning that monster again after _someone_ let it loose," he added with a pointed glare. "He's certainly no saint though," Gerald admitted. "He has absolutely no problem using the dark power given to him, and he killed two people dear to me. We've had peace between Hexter and Hironeiden, but it has been…uneasy, and not solely because of my personal dislike of the man. In the thirty years since Encablossa's imprisonment, I've seen him wipe out most of the Dark Elf clans in Vellond and purge most of the Liches and Half-Vampires from existence as well. There are fewer of both groups than there are humans in the Palace." _Excuse me while I shed tears for the dead subhumans,_ Walter thought sarcastically. "He hardly batted an eye as he walked away from the smoking ruins of Vellond after a near total genocide. He fully believes in the ideology of 'the ends justify the means'. He's much like _you_ , actually," Gerald added with a vicious grin.

Walter's skin bristled at the audacious comparison, but Robin cut them both off. "Alright you two," Robin warned, "that's enough. King Gerald," he said, and the Hironeiden King inclined his head for Robin to continue. "We didn't get formally introduced last night. I'm Robin, the tactician for this militia. Since I doubt you're going to be leaving Walter's side, I have to ask you: are you comfortable following my orders?"

Gerald shrugged. "If that's what it takes to make sure I'm there when Walter betrays you," he replied nonchalantly.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Alright then. I'm assigning everybody a partner for the purposes of my tactics, and because I don't apparently have a choice, you two are partners." Robin's brow then furrowed. "What about your Queen?"

"One of us is going to keep an eye on Walter at all times," Gerald explained. "If I'm not awake, Ellen will be, and she can be partnered with Walter." Gerald then gazed intensely at Walter. "If anything happens to my wife, I will be blaming you."

Walter nodded in weary acceptance. "That is fair, I suppose."

"And if you're both awake at once?" Robin asked.

"Then we'll both be fighting with Walter," Gerald answered.

Robin groaned, and then rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever," he conceded. "If that's the case, I'll be sticking the three of you at the center of our formations. Two heavily armored knights and an archer would make a strong core…" he trailed off, making notes in his notebook.

"King Gerald," Virion spoke up, "Zis wife of yours, I fought her at ze Feroxi Coliseum. She claimed to be 'Half-Elf'. What does zat mean?"

"So, you're the irritating braggart she mentioned," Gerald mused. Virion gave a wordless grumble of protest. "'Half-Elf' means her mother was an Elf, and her father was a human," Gerald explained. "Elves are a separate race from humans in Bersia. Faster, stronger, more magically inclined, and immortal. I don't believe Ellen is truly immortal, and she's not magically inclined, but she has hardly aged in the past thirty years, and is still faster and stronger than any human woman, and most human men. My own son carries some Elven traits as well. He's notably faster and stronger, and looks to be barely a man, as opposed to just shy of thirty winters."

"Ah, zat explains it," Virion exclaimed. "When we dueled, she moved with such inhuman speed; it was uncanny. I am pleased to know zat ze only one to have ever defeated the archest of archers was in fact more powerful than any human!"

"Whatever makes you feel better," Gerald said with a roll of his eyes. He then turned back to Robin. "So, when do we march?" he asked.

"The Exalt said midday," Robin said, pulling a map out of the pouch on his bag, placing it on the table. "It's a two day journey to Castle Draug, across the eastern mountains. I hear Frederick's from there."

"Two whole days a' marchin'?" someone called from the entrance to the males' wing. Donnel had come out for breakfast, already in the leather armor Frederick had had commissioned for him, an iron sword on his waist. "Man, if I'd'a known there'd be so much dang marchin', I woulda stayed on the farm."

"Donnel," Walter greeted. "I see Sir Frederick indeed began training you with a sword?"

"Yessir," Donnel said proudly, drawing his sword with a flourish. "He says I gots a real aptitude for it, he does. He also reckons I'd do good with an axe too."

Walter hummed in contemplation as Donnel sat down at the last empty seat at their table and began wolfing down bacon at an alarming rate. "Perhaps once you have mastered one or the other, I will teach you to use a mace." He said, his tone almost fatherly.

"Gosh," Donnel said, surprised. "You'd really be doin' that for me?"

"Yes," Walter replied with a smile. "Be warned; I am not an easy teacher."

"I ain't meanin' no offense Sir Walter," Donnel responded with a grin, "but ain't nobody as hard a teacher as Sir Frederick."

"Is that so?" a voice said from the door to the barracks. Donnel paled, and turned toward the door; Frederick was standing in the doorway, a disarming smile on his face. "I am disappointed to see that you do not approve of my teaching style."

"S-sir Frederick!" Donnel squeaked, "I didn't mean nothin' by-"

"Oh, I know!" Sir Frederick exclaimed, his smile turning downright sinister. "It appears that I am not challenging you enough, Donnel. I had planned to forgo the morning calisthenics, due to the impending march, but that is apparently not enough for you. I think we shall conduct them anyway! Why, perhaps during this morning's training exercises, you can even borrow Sir Kellam's breastplate!" _Who is Kellam?_ Walter wondered vaguely.

"B-but Sir Frederick!" Donnel started, but he trailed off; it was evident Frederick was not budging.

"Kellam!" Frederick barked. Walter nearly jumped in fright as the suit of armor he'd originally thought was empty strode by him, coming to a halt near Frederick. "Please remove your breastplate and lend it to Donnel, if you would?"

"Sure thing, Sir Frederick," the black –haired knight Kellam responded with a piteous glance at Donnel, before gesturing for the boy to follow him into the armory.

"I expect to see you outside within ten minutes," Fredericks stated, grin still plastered on his face, before turning and striding out of the barracks.

Gerald whistled as the door shut behind Frederick. "It appears your lieutenant is quite the taskmaster," he remarked with a chuckle.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Robin groaned. "I asked for his help training with my sword, and I regret that decision. I've already done my morning exercises."

"Before breakfast?" Walter wondered.

"I'm grateful for that," Robin said with a hollow voice. "I would have just thrown it up anyway."

As Walter recoiled in sympathy, Gerald turned to him. "You seem awfully fond of that farmhand, Donnel was it?" Gerald stated curiously.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Walter responded. His voice then turned quiet. "He is about the same age as my son," he explained. "Though, after thirty years, my son is likely my own age by now." That was certainly a strange thought for Walter.

"You have a son?" Gerald wondered, before his face became serious. "Wait. Was he a blonde haired boy, Thomas if I remember correctly, serving as squire to Sir Kendal?"

Walter's expression lit up. "Yes. How is he doing?" Walter asked excitedly.

Gerald suddenly looked aside uncomfortably, and Walter's stomach dropped. "I may hate you," Gerald began, "but this is uncomfortable for me to say, as a father myself. Your son was separated from Sir Kendal when they entered Encablossa," Gerald said solemnly. "He hasn't been seen since."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 **The Road to Castle Draug**

Walter had been silent since Gerald had told him of his son's disappearance. Gerald, mercifully, had not prodded him about it. His morning prayers, silent. His morning drills, silent. The midday meal before the march, silent. The first hour of the march, silent.

Even as the gentle plains of Ylisse turned into rockier, more sloped earth, Walter remained silent, Gerald standing behind and to his right. Ellen had joined them just before the march, and had begun a stinging remark before Gerald had motioned for her to be silent. Walter was thankful for that. He had no illusions that Gerald cared at all for his emotional state, likely just focused on keeping Walter even-minded for the mission, but he appreciated it all the same.

Just as they reached the base of the mountains, six hours after the company had left the capital, the group decided to make camp for the evening. Walter sat his tent up in silence, Gerald and Ellen's tent next to his. Walter had been unofficially inducted into the command staff of the Shepherds for his experience in war, and so Robin's tent was on the other side of his own. The Shepherds' tents formed a perimeter around the Exalt's own; a large affair that took the majority of Captain Phila's pegasus knights to set up; a massive collection of blue fabric, emblazoned with the Brand of the Exalt on all sides.

Walter was returning to his tent with his dinner, Gerald ever on his heels, when he almost ran headlong into Panne, who was re-entering the camp. Walter quickly noted that she was veritably covered in blood; she had likely just finished hunting. _Barbarous,_ Walter mentally said with disdain. _Not even the wherewithal to clean herself up._

"Watch where you're walking, man-spawn!" Panne snarled as she stumbled back.

"My apologies, Panne," Walter responded dully, squashing the temptation to echo his thoughts on her current state, before turning to walk around her.

Panne, however followed. "You reek of grief, man-spawn," Panne noted.

"He just found out his son has not been seen for years," Gerald informed her, saving Walter the trouble. Walter simply kept walking, the two falling in place behind him. _They will leave me alone if I ignore them,_ he thought. "He disappeared while fighting to reseal a demon that Walter had unleashed." Walter winced at the blunt summary and implicit accusation, but could not fault its accuracy. _It_ was _my fault,_ Walter admitted morosely.

"I see," Panne replied pensively, before addressing Walter. "I too have felt the loss of my loved ones. My own mother and brother, and my entire warren, were slain before my eyes."

Walter said nothing, but continued walking. He would soon be at his tent, those two would leave him alone, and he could think in peace.

"What did your child value, man-spawn?" Panne asked suddenly. Walter stopped walking, thrown off by the odd question, and thought for a bit.

"His faith in the Lord," Walter responded as he started walking again. "Doing what is right, according to His Commandments. The memory of his mother, taken by illness far too soon. The Ecclesian Empire and its people. And…and myself," Walter finished quietly. "He admired me, despite my coldness, despite my constant absence in service of the Patriarch. Despite the fact that I rarely ever told him I loved him. One of the last things he said to me was that he wished to follow in my footsteps." Gerald snorted, and it took all of Walter's self control to not turn and deck the man.

"When my warren was taken from me," Panne told him in kind, "I resolved to carry on what they held dear. The beliefs of my people, what few I was taught and remember, say that doing so allows them to live on in you. It helped to ease my pain; perhaps it might do the same for you."

Walter felt tears coming on, but held them back. Not here, not in front of her and Gerald. "That is good advice, Panne," Walter said, his voice heavy. "I will meditate on it."

"You said his child only disappeared, correct?" Panne asked Gerald.

Gerald nodded. "Yes. Kendal simply said he was separated, and never reappeared once they returned from the Dark Dimension."

"Then do not give up hope, man-spawn," Panne instructed Walter. "He may yet live."

It was then that they arrived at Walter's tent. Walter heaved a sigh and turned to Panne. "Thank you, Panne," he said honestly. _Perhaps she's not too bad…for a subhuman,_ he thought.

"Do not think us friends," Panne warned. "Your grief can be scented a mile away, and it is an unpleasant stench. It would benefit us all if you washed yourself of it." With that, she turned around and strode away.

Gerald and Walter watched her go, and Gerald turned back to Walter once she was out of sight. "Get rest, Walter," Gerald said neutrally. "We still have another day and a half of marching ahead of us." With that, he ducked into his own tent with two plates, one for himself and one for Ellen.

Walter followed suit, and began stripping off his armor before he would eat. He was hesitant to delude himself into having false hope that Thomas was alive; even if he still lived, he had been gone so long that he was likely trapped in whatever world he was in, and had long since moved on and created a new life for himself. _Perhaps he has married,_ Walter mused, _and has children of his own. I hope he remembers to tell them how much they mean to him._ As Walter finished stripping down to his tunic, ate his dinner quickly, then retired to bed, he occupied himself with inventing possible futures Thomas had built from himself. A clergyman, perhaps? A warrior in a foreign army? A farmhand? So many possibilities for what Thomas could have done, it was easy to believe that he truly wasn't dead.

The imagining distracted him from the sting of unshed tears in his eyes, at any rate.

000

"Again!" Walter barked, as Donnel struggled to sit up.

"Aw, heck," Donnel cursed as he struggled to his feet, clumsily clinging to his sword. "I know sayin' this only gonna get me in a bigger bind, but four on one just ain't no damn fair!"

"Walter," Frederick said impassively, staring at Donnel's exhausted form stoically, almost bored, "is war ever fair?"

"Not in my experience," Walter replied grimly. "King Gerald?"

"If there's one thing we can agree on, Walter," Gerald answered, "it is that war is cruel and unfair."

"Quit cryin' and pick up your damn sword, Donnel!" Sully barked.

"Aw, nuts," Donnel sighed, before readying his sword again.

It was early in the morning on day two of the march, before breakfast was even served, and Walter had volunteered to help Frederick and Sully train Donnel in the art of the blade. Frederick had decided to see how Donnel was fairing with the little bit of training he had been given while Walter was away at Themis, and so had proposed the same three-on-one fight. Gerald had offered to make it four on one, much to Frederick's sadistic glee and Donnel's horror. And Gerald held nothing back when sparring; he had inadvertently shattered Donnel's wooden practice buckler several rounds in.

Donnel charged toward the nearest target, Sully, only for Gerald's sword to cut him off with a vicious vertical strike. Walter then charged in from his left, buffeting Donnel aside with his shield. Donnel saw the trap coming this time though, and as he stumbled from Walter's blow, he swung wildly to his right. There was an unpleasant screech as the practice sword scraped off of Frederick's plackart heavily, and Frederick and the others ceased their attacks. The condition was that Donnel had to strike at least one of them with more than a glancing blow, and he had met it.

"Well done, Donnel," Frederick congratulated with a serious, but approving look. "You truly do have an aptitude for this. Your progress has been remarkable."

"Aw shucks, Sir Frederick," Donnel replied modestly, "I'm only tryin' my best."

"Considering that a mere few weeks ago you could dream of naught but a pig farm," Walter added, "I would say that your 'best' is several magnitudes better than most others'."

"Yeah, you're really kicking ass!" Sully exclaimed proudly, before a loud, very unladylike growling came from her stomach. "Man, I'm hungry," Sully complained, before grabbing Donnel by the arm. "C'mon there pipsqueak, let's go get some chow. You can continue that story about the greased pig run while we're at it." With that she half-dragged, half-marched Donnel away from the impromptu sparring circle on the perimeter of camp.

"The boy has talent," Gerald remarked. "Where did you find him?"

"On an island to the south," Frederick replied. "Not far from Outrealm Island."

"What, you mean the island where the Gateway is?" Gerald asked. Frederick simply nodded.

"I don't know about you gentlemen," Walter spoke up, "but I do believe Sully has the right idea."

"Yes, we can't march on an empty stomach," Frederick concurred. With Gerald's accompaniment a given, the three took off toward the mess tent.

Inside were the few early risers; Robin and Virion, at a table, eating breakfast while playing a curious board game that somewhat reminded Walter of chess. Panne was already leaving the mess tent, grumbling about "ridiculous man-spawn and their ridiculous games". Sumia was on cooking duty this morning, and had prepared pancakes. Sully and Donnel were sitting at a table together with Princess Lissa, with Donnel enthralling the women with some undoubtedly humorous tale, judging by the hysterical laughter and snorting emanating from that direction. _Of course the Princess would snort,_ Walter thought amusedly. Frederick broke off, undoubtedly to grab a plate for himself and the Prince, while Walter and Gerald made their way over to where the tactician and archer sat, helping themselves to the large platter that was already present.

"Blast!" Robin shouted in frustration as they neared.

"It appears I win, master tactician," Virion preened smugly. "Did I not tell you that I was both a lion and a swan?"

"More like a chicken and the far end of a horse," Robin spat. "I'm no noble lord, but that strategy wasn't anywhere near honorable."

"My, aren't we plainspoken," Virion retorted in mock indignation.

"Still," Robin conceded with a grin, "I appreciate the practice. Thank you Virion."

"If you wish me to unleash my dishonorable strategies again, you have but to ask!"

"What game is this?" Gerald asked as the two sat down at the empty chairs around the table.

"It's not a game," Robin explained as he began cleaning up the dozens of pieces he had carved. They all appeared to be simple wooden coins of sorts, each with a symbol carved into it. "It's a board for practicing maneuvers. This keeps me from running everyone ragged with training exercises."

"I wanted to teach you Bersian strategy before," Walter told Robin. "Would you like me to train you using these board pieces?"

"Would you?" Robin asked brightly, a wide grin on his face as he stopped packing away the pieces. "That would be great. Maybe I can pick up a tip for beating Virion next time."

Virion was standing up as he said that, and merely chuckled as he walked away. "One can certainly dream, most tactical of tacticians," he barbed, before exiting the mess tent.

"How many soldiers does each piece represent?" Walter asked.

"Ummm…just one," Robin replied, confused. "Why?"

"Bersian tactics are more suited to large scale engagements," Walter explained. "For the purposes of this war game, these units, which I'm guessing are infantry, will count for…say, twenty five soldiers…" Walter then went into the basics of Bersian unit numbers and troop formations. Walter was rather surprised, however, when Robin seemed to just absorb it all, not even needing verification for most of them. It took most officer candidates _years_ to learn everything there was to know, yet when the brief lesson was finished, Robin had no questions, and not because he was overwhelmed.

"Your method of warfare is entirely unconventional," Robin said giddily. "I can already see what we can do with these command structures and unit compositions; this could give us the edge we need against Plegia!"

"Speaking of," Gerald interrupted as Walter began setting the board up for one of the basic training exercises he had learned at the Officer's Academy, "what's going on with Plegia while we escort the Exalt?"

"General Thorne, the Grand General of the Ylissean Army, is already engaging Plegians across the border," Robin explained. "We've no way of knowing exactly how he fares, but I left him with several strategies that I believed would be useful. If he followed them, he should have little problem holding the border long enough for Regna Ferox to send more troops."

"You say that as if you don't believe he will," Walter pointed out.

"He hates me, for some reason," Robin growled in frustration as he finished setting up his own pieces the way Walter directed him to. "Even with Duke Themis and Chrom vouching for me, he just blew off everything I said at the council meeting. He seems to hate me just because I'm lowborn."

"So am I," Gerald said with a frown. "I'd like to see him say something to me. War might not be feasible between our two kingdoms, but I can certainly gut him where he stands."

"Don't," Robin insisted. "Despite our disagreements, he's a very competent general, and from what I hear he's a formidable warrior." Robin's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, you're lowborn? You're the King of Hironeiden!"

"Not by birth," Gerald explained. "I was an orphan. My parents had gotten themselves killed seeking revenge, and I was abandoned in the streets, no other family to speak of. There, I met another orphan, Rupert. Shortly after, General Hugh, the 'Grand General' as you would put it, found us by chance. He adopted us, trained us, and we joined the Army when we came of age."

"I still don't see how you became King," Robin pointed out.

"I'm getting there," Gerald responded with an impatient tone. "Anyway, Rupert and I proved ourselves in border skirmishes with Vellond and Hexter. When General Hugh was…was killed," he hesitated slightly, "the King of Hironeiden selected me to take his place. When _someone_ ," he said with a pointed glare at Walter, "unleashed Encablossa, Ecclesia and Hironeiden were right in its path. In the onslaught of the Encablossan monsters, most of the nobles and high ranking officers of both nations were slaughtered. When we finally resealed it, I was practically the only one left with any experience in leading masses of people. The people chose me to be the new King," he finished.

"What is this 'Encablossa' you keep mentioning?" Robin asked curiously. "I gather that it's a demon of some sort, but you haven't explained anything in detail."

Walter and Gerald both paled. Walter remembered, just from his brief experience before he was brought here, how monstrous that thing and its creations were. Gerald had seen much, much more of it.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Gerald said evasively. "Suffice it to say, it has an axe to grind against the mortal races of Bersia, and what it does to its victims makes whatever magic creates those Risen creatures look tame."

It was Robin's turn to pale. "I…I see," he said uncomfortably. "I'll not press for details. I'm not sure I want them anymore."

"You don't," Gerald assured. "So, tactician, let's see if you can beat an Ecclesian Emissary in a tactical battle," he changed subjects with a grin.

"You may move first," Walter offered. Robin obliged, moving one of his infantry units per the rules they'd established, and the game began.

As the game went on, Walter was both impressed and alarmed at how quickly Robin was adapting. Even as Walter's cavalry and siege engines combined to take out his rear line, he threw his own cavalry into the general melee in the center of the board, hoping to break the slog and pressure Walter's ranged units with infantry. Walter moved to counter by moving some spearmen to the periphery of the battlefield, but Robin quickly averted course. This game was slower paced than a real battle, of course, but Robin was calculating his moves at an impressive pace. He would surely have no problem adapting in a real battle.

The tide started to turn, however. Walter had used his cavalry to force Robin's own into a spearmen unit, and it went downhill fast for him. Still, Walter had taken more casualties here than he had in Brimstone Forest, when…

"Blast again!" Robin shouted, interrupting his thoughts.

"I think you did an admirable job," Gerald offered. "You're new to this, and you didn't have mortars or bomber wings to work with. Either of those would have broken this battle wide open for you."

Robin shot Walter and Gerald a curious glance. "What are those?"

"You mean to say that you don't have gunpowder here?" Walter asked, confused, as the main bulk of the Shepherds began filing in for breakfast.

"Oh, we're going to fix that," Gerald replied. "Mage!' he shouted at the crowd. "Yes, you, woman, come over here!" A few curious glances were shot their way from the crowd, but soon Miriel extricated herself from the breakfast rush crowd and made her way over, a disgruntled expression on her face.

"First and foremost," Miriel began hotly, "I am named 'Miriel', not 'mage', nor 'woman', and must insist upon the appropriate moniker. Now that common courtesy has been inculcated in that diminutive cerebrum of yours, what may I do for you this morning?"

"I have a project for you to work on," Gerald replied with a smart grin. "I heard you're a fan of experiments. Did you know that certain combinations of earths will explode when exposed to heat?"

Miriel frowned heavily. "Fire? Causing a violent reaction in inert earths?" She said incredulously. "I fail to see how-"

"Oh, trust me, it's possible," Gerald cut her off. "The Dwarves of Bersia almost exclusively rely on weapons that use it, to be honest."

"Assuming that this isn't some fanciful fabrication," Miriel said, her voice shifting from incredulity to almost manic curiosity, "I would be most interested in pursuing this avenue of research, given the current political climate and my obligation to the Shepherds."

"When we go to march, find my wife, Ellen," Gerald told her. "She knows what earths to search for, just not the exact recipe. I'm sure you can figure it out from there."

"I will certainly look into that," Miriel responded distantly as she strode out of the mess tent, not even bothering with breakfast in her newfound enthusiasm for a new research subject. Walter could practically see the smoke pouring from her ears as she began parsing the information she'd been given, and its implications. The last thing they heard from her was ecstatic giggling.

"I think you broke Miriel," Robin said, chortling.

"I certainly hope not, if she's going to be experimenting with gunpowder," Gerald said. "At any rate, we'll be marching after breakfast is over.

"I suppose I ought to go pack up my tent, then," Robin said with a sigh. "See you on the trail," he said with a cheery wave as he left.

Gerald and Walter devolved into an awkward silence after Robin was gone. Walter steadfastly ignoring Gerald as he finished off the remainder of his breakfast, Gerald glaring at Walter across the table.

"King Gerald, may I ask you a question?" Walter suddenly asked.

"If I could stop you, I would," Gerald grumbled, "but I can't without resorting to violence. What is it?"

"Why are you being so kind to the Ylisseans?" Walter asked. "I would have assumed that their decision to shelter me would have made them an enemy in your eyes."

Gerald was quiet for a moment before answering. "Normally, you would be right," Gerald responded. "But these people are a bunch of kids. The Exalt herself is barely older than my own son. They're just young, naïve, but they're good people. Unlike you, I don't murder innocent people. They believe you can be redeemed." He shook his head. "They're wrong, but I'll let them figure that out on their own time. I'm just here to limit the damage."

"Did you come all this way simply to administer your justice?" Walter asked flatly.

"No," Gerald responded. "Regnier asked for my help to save this world. From what, he didn't say. After our match in the Coliseum and Marth disappeared, he disappeared as well. Leinhart stayed behind long enough to tell us that they didn't actually need our help, and then followed his master. We opted to stay behind to hunt you down… It's not gone quite as expected."

Walter frowned in thought. "Where did they leave to?"

Gerald shrugged. "He didn't say, and I don't particularly care. The only thing I can tell you is that we spent just shy of a month observing the continent. Their armies, their leaders, their people. The observations stopped when we ran into Marth; I think she and Regnier knew each other. Whatever Regnier is trying to stop, I'm willing to bet it involves this war, and that woman."

Walter didn't reply, simply humming in thought as he finished eating his breakfast. Gerald finished around the same time, and they stood up together. They then strode from their tents to prepare for the march, breaking the tents down and putting them in the supply wagon.

"Gerald, this sleep schedule is going to kill me," Ellen complained to her husband as she tossed their belongings tiredly into the wagon. "Or more likely you, being as old as you are."

"Old and handsome," Gerald retorted with a sly grin, to which Ellen rolled her eyes. "We can't all be so long-lived."

"Something I'm thankful for," Ellen replied in mock exasperation, "I'm not sure I could deal with you for more than a century."

Walter tuned out their marital bickering as the rest of the camp began breaking down, the procession preparing to march. He took his place in the column, just ahead of the Exalt's party (consisting of the Exalt, Captain Phila, a squad of Pegasus Knights, and several Councilors), behind Chrom, Robin, Frederick, and Lissa. The rest of the Shepherds formed up behind the royal procession, and they set off onto the mountain paths shortly.

Walter felt the same foreboding feeling he had back in Themis. He put it up to the war, though. After all, as they marched the Exalt to safety, thousands of Ylisseans fought and died on the border. That would be enough to disquiet even the hardiest of veterans. They were on the opposite side of Ylisse from Plegia, after all, there was no chance that the Plegians would catch up to them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 **Incursion**

Lissa let out a groan of agony. "My feet are killing me!" she cried petulantly. "I've got blisters the size of eggs!"

"Oh, it's not so bad Lissa," Chrom chided with a lopsided grin. "It's just a refreshing stroll. How are you holding up, Robin?"

Robin looked up from his deadened stare at the ground. "My legs feel like pudding," Robin replied flatly, prompting Chrom to laugh. "Your endurance astounds me, Chrom."

Walter was inclined to agree. The mountain terrain was both arduous and treacherous; Stahl had nearly been lost when the section of the cliff that they were on at the time began to give way beneath his horse. Thankfully, he had managed to pull free, but marching through the aptly named Breakneck Pass was still a harrowing experience. They had been marching for several hours now, and even the hardiest of them were beginning to feel the strain.

Chrom laughed again. "Would you like me to carry you?" he teased, earning himself a withering glare in return.

"You can carry me!" Lissa shouted hopefully. "Seriously, I would love if you'd carry me."

Walter felt someone brush up on his right side, and turned to notice Panne.

"Panne," Walter greeted shortly. She may have given him comfort the other day, but she was still…not human. He had spent far too long facing non-humans to be comfortable around them. "What can I do for you?"

"The old one, in the green robes," she muttered quietly, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. Walter shot a short glance back; the man Panne was referring to was Hierarch Pavel, the Church of Naga's representative on the Ylissean Council. "He absolutely reeks of fear," Panne continued upon seeing Walter acknowledge him.

"He is an old clergyman," Walter responded, her words putting him on edge. "This path is treacherous to even the youngest and spryest of us. If he were to lose his footing on these paths, he would easily perish. That is enough to make anyone nervous."

"Then what was his excuse yesterday?" Panne retorted. "Ever since we left the city, he has been growing increasingly fearful. He knows something."

Walter's blood ran cold. "You suspect him of treason?" he whispered warily.

"I am certain of it," Panne responded with conviction. "These mountains, they are known to me," she said. "Ahead, there is an ideal spot for an ambush."

Walter nodded. While he was loathe to trust anything not human, the stakes were simply too high. "I see," he told her. "Warn the Prince, and the Exalt if you can." Panne nodded and bounded off

"Warn them of what?" Gerald's voice cut in, equally quiet. Ellen simply walked forward, her face indicating she had heard at least part of their conversation. _Bloody Elven hearing,_ Walter cursed. He then relayed Panne's suspicions, and Gerald nodded.

"If he betrays us," Gerald said, his voice brimming with rage, "I will cut him down myself."

"Don't do anything rash," Ellen warned. "He hasn't done anything yet. The taguel may simply be mistaken." Walter saw Chrom stiffen up ahead. Robin turned back toward Walter, and a wordless understanding was reached.

 _Protect the Royal Family, detain the Hierarch if he turns on us._

The next few minutes of the march were silent, before they rounded a bend on the mountain path. In front of them the path widened and flattened for a distance, hardpacked earth and hardy flora decorating the vista. Below them, a large river flowed, heading west toward the plains. Walter could not take the time to appreciate any aesthetic beauty in the area, however; the dozens of Plegian soldiers waiting for them in the road ahead immediately seized his attention.

"Ambush!" Chrom shouted, not skipping a beat as he drew Falchion and settled into his regular stance. The ring of steel answered him, the Plegians and Shepherds both drawing their weapons.

"Hold!" the Hierarch shouted, shoving Walter aside as he hurried toward the Plegian ranks. "I was the one your king told you abo-"

He was cut off as Gerald grabbed the back of the man's collar, immediately cutting off his airway and forcing him to topple backwards to the earth. Gerald drew his sword nonchalantly and thrust it into the prone Hierarch's chest without hesitation. Walter heard Emmeryn gasp in shock at the brutal display, but Walter held no pity for the man. He betrayed his own sovereign; he deserved every bit of that and more.

"A better kindness than he deserves," Gerald growled as he wrenched his sword free. "I cannot stand traitors."

" _It is not your right to decide, your Holiness"…_ Walter's own words echoed in his memory, taunting his judgment of the Hierarch for his treason. Walter was dragged from that train of thought, however, as one of the Plegians began drifting forward on a wyvern.

"Thank you kindly!" the wyvern rider shouted, likely the enemy leader. "I was gonna do that myself! Traitorous scum sold out his own sovereign for protection!" he spat, before smiling cruelly. "In fact, I'm so grateful that I'm willing to make you an offer: surrender the Fire Emblem, and I'll just walk away and leave your precious Exalt alive."

"Captain Phila, take Emmeryn, the Council, and the Emblem to the back of the column," Chrom ordered. "Shepherds, prepare for battle."

The enemy commander merely laughed. "So be it then! They'll be raising statues of Captain Vasto, destroyer of the Exalted Line, by nightfall! Kill them all, and bring me that Emblem!" he ordered his men.

"Everyone, retreat a few paces, we'll use the narrow cliff road to our advantage! Walter, Kellam, Vaike, Lon'qu, Gerald, Donnel, form a line!" Robin shouted. "Frederick, Sully, Stahl, Panne, charge forward, disrupt their ranks and kill any archers you see! Sumia, take Chrom and engage the wyvern riders once the archers are down. Cavalry, Panne, follow them! The rest of you, form a second line and provide support to the front line!" The Shepherds moved without question, hurrying into the formation described. Seconds later, the Plegians began charging, their formation nowhere near as organized, but made up for in sheer numbers. At Frederick's urging, the cavaliers surged forward, diving into the enemy ranks and out of Walter's sight.

"For Ylisse!" Robin shouted as he took place in the back of the line, drawing forth his tome and readying a lightning spell. The other Shepherds echoed his cry, before charging forward to meet the Plegians.

Robin's decision to use the geography to funnel the Plegians was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they weren't immediately flanked and swallowed by the mass of Plegian troops. A curse because Walter soon found his heels uncomfortably close to the cliff edge, facing down two opponents at once. An axe wielder charged forward, but Walter sidestepped his clumsy blow and rammed his opponent's shoulder with his own, forcing the man to lose his balance and tumble over the cliff edge. The screams stopped abruptly after several agonizingly long seconds. During that time, the second attacker, a swordsman, darted forward, jabbing furiously at Walter with the tip of his blade, aiming for the few portions of his armor that weren't covered in steel plate. Walter, however, had no such issue with the lighter armored swordsman, so his opponent was forced to both be particular with his attacks and quick to move out of the way of counter-attacks. The dance was shortlived, however; another combatant, Walter didn't register who, slammed into the swordsman, knocking him off balance. Walter quickly capitalized and brought his shield across in a brutal backhand, dazing his opponent, before bringing his mace up and across the man's face with a sickening crunch. The man immediately slacked, crashing to the earth like a stone. Walter paid him no more heed, and searched for his next opponent. He found himself face to face with a grounded, bleeding wyvern, its mouth stretched wide, its neck muscles coiled to lunge forward.

Walter barely got his shield up in time to place it between his body and the wyvern's furious maw. He wasn't sure if it could successfully pierce his armor simply by biting, but was disinclined to find out the hard way. As the furious wyvern snapped at and around the edges of his shield, he brought his mace up and delivered the hardest blow he could muster against the reptile's head, the flanges skittering off the plate-like scales on its hide. It roared in pain, before renewing its assault on Walter's shield, even more infuriated than before. Thankfully, the rider was preoccupied fighting one of the Shepherds on the wyvern's flank; his defensive motions against the wyvern left him incredibly vulnerable to the rider's poleax.

"Get out of my sight!" A woman snarled, before a white and red blur sped into the wyvern. A surprised shout, enraged roar, and sickening squelch later, the wyvern and rider both laid dead, the latter with several lance wounds in his torso and the former with a javelin driven straight into its skull.

"Gods, Plegians here too!?" The woman cried in despair as she looked about the battlefield. She was a redheaded, beautiful woman, riding a pegasus and wielding a steel lance of superb craftsmanship. She turned to Walter, her gaze frantic. "Where is Prince Chrom!?"

"With another pegasus knight," Walter told her. "They are attempting to deal with the wyverns before they reach our ranks. Who are you, soldier?"

"My name is Cordelia," She responded as the other Shepherds pushed forward a few feet, leaving the two of them in the back lines now. "If Prince Chrom is not giving the orders here, who is?"

"I am," Robin said as he walked up, eyeing her curiously. "Cordelia, is it? Who are you, what are you doing here?"

"I was stationed on the border," she explained. "The Plegians came in force, and they are closing in behind us. We must get Prince Chrom and the Exalt to safety!"

"I don't think Chrom even understands the definition of 'safety'," Robin said with a chuckle. Cordelia's eyes flashed in anger at the seeming disrespect of her liege, but Robin continued before she could object. "But you're right; we can't afford to get bogged down here. Can your pegasus handle a passenger?"

"Yes, I believe so," Cordelia replied testily. "Why?"

"You're taking me to Chrom," Robin replied simply. "Walter, you have command here. Keep pushing forward, but don't overextend."

Walter rendered a quick nod as Robin climbed aboard the pegasus and the two took off. He then turned back to the battle, and began directing the Shephards, taking Robin's spot in the back line and casting spells at the enemy. Despite the loss of one of their line, the geography continued to favor them, funneling the Plegians into the line and rendering their superior numbers pointless. When the enemy dwindled and Walter felt comfortable, he ordered the Shepherds to advance outward and cut down the few that remained. It was over in less than a minute. The formation then began crossing the field, where Chrom, Robin, Sumia, and Cordelia stood over the heavily bleeding form of the enemy commander, laying against his own slain wyvern. Captain Phila and Emmeryn landed nearby, walking up to the dying man. Lissa, Gerald, and Ellen followed up soon after. The rest of the Shepherds spread out, moving to secure the area.

Vasto looked at Emmeryn, and his face twisted into a cruel, if pained, grin. "You doves think killing me will change anything?" He coughed, an unhealthy amount of blood spattering his armor as Emmeryn looked down on him, unnerved and saddened. "Even now, my brothers storm across your border. Go on, dear Exalted coward!" he spat. "Run! Flee, while they slaughter your subjects!" His voice became much weaker as he continued. "Save yourself! Let their faith…bleed away…with the rest…" With that, he let out a final death rattle and fully slumped to the ground.

"That's the last of them," Chrom stated tiredly, looking around.

"My Prince, Your Grace, you must run!" Cordelia urged them. "More Plegians are coming, not even half a day's march behind you!"

"Cordelia, why are you here?" Phila asked worriedly. "Tell me that the border remains secure!"

"Would that I could, Captain," Cordelia replied, her voice haunted, "but it would be a lie. Gangrel himself led the bulk of the Plegian Army against us. The end was upon us when my sisters bade me flee and warn the Exalt…" her voice cracked, and tears began streaming down her face. "Oh, Gods, I should have stayed!" She sobbed. Walter felt his heart go out to the young girl; being the last survivor was a terrible burden to bear. "I should have stayed! I can still hear their screams!"

Captain Phila strode up to her and placed a strong, reassuring hand on Cordelia's shoulder. "Peace, Cordelia," she said soothingly as Cordelia sobbed. "You did your duty. Our sisters rightly prized your youth. You've many years yet to keep their legacy alive."

"But I abandoned them!" Cordelia insisted, eyes pouring tears. "I'm weak…our legacy deserves better…"

"Sometimes it takes the most courage to flee," Phila argued. "Your sisters knew that. Now pull yourself together, knight. Let the faith they showed in you give you strength."

"Captain…" Cordelia said, her voice breaking further, "how can I go on like this!? They were my…my family…" she let out a wail of agony and broke down further, dissolving into incoherent tears. Captain Phila decided to forgo professional distance and embraced the young knight, trying to console her.

"Damn those monsters," Chrom spat, kicking Vasto's corpse. Walter noticed Emmeryn give a disapproving glare at that, but she said nothing about it.

"I am returning to the capital." Emmeryn announced. The rest of the group, sans the grieving Cordelia, were shocked silent.

Phila was the first to break it. "Your Grace," she began carefully, still stroking Cordelia's hair as she sobbed into her shoulder, "I cannot advise-"

"I should never have left," Emmeryn interrupted, sounding angry at herself. "If it's discovered that I'm away when this comes to light…the people could panic. Riot. More Ylisseans could needlessly die. I will not allow it. Chrom," Emmeryn said heavily, reaching into the large satchel at her waist and drawing its contents out. It appeared to be a golden kite shield, with inscriptions elegantly carved across the surface. Four holes adorned its surface, with a fifth holding a shining, white jewel. Walter could feel the magical resonance even from several feet away; this was an object of immense power.

"Th-the Fire Emblem?" Chrom asked incredulously.

"Take it to Regna Ferox- to safety," Emmeryn commanded softly.

"And leave you?" Chrom asked disbelievingly, before letting out a short, humorless laugh. "Not going to happen."

"No part of House Ylisse is more important than the Emblem," Emmeryn told him sternly. "It possesses tremendous power…but too much blood has been shed over it already. I hope it finds a better guardian in you, than it did in me." Walter really did not like the way she was talking.

He apparently wasn't the only one. Chrom walked up and grabbed his sister's shoulder, looking at her pleadingly. "Emm, come on," he pleaded, "You can't…don't talk like that! You sound like you're ready to give up!"

"I am not giving up, Chrom," she replied with a sad, yet serene smile on her face. "I am only giving what I can."

"Emm, please, this is madness!" Chrom shouted desperately.

"Sis, wait, let me go with you!" Lissa piped up, stepping toward Emmeryn.

Emmeryn raised her hand, however, and Lissa stopped in her tracks. "You are to stay here with Chrom," she said, her voice brooking no argument. "I command it."

"This isn't fair!" Lissa cried, tears starting to form in her eyes. "This is _so_ not fair! I know our people need you, but _we_ need you too!"

Emmeryn smiled sadly, and embraced Lissa in a gentle hug. "Dry your tears, love," she said soothingly. "This is not good bye." Walter didn't believe her.

"Your Grace, allow my pegasus knights to accompany you," Phila spoke up, still holding a sniffling Cordelia.

"I would be thankful for your company," Emmeryn responded, sounding honestly relieved.

"I would go with you as well, Your Grace," Walter spoke up. "You have shown me great kindness, despite my history, and I wish to repay it."

"No, Walter," Emmeryn stated. "The Emblem, and my siblings, need-"

"They need you to live," Walter interrupted. The dead silence from everyone practically screamed at him that he was stepping so far out of line that it was beyond unacceptable, but he didn't care. "The Shepherds are more than adequate protection for your siblings and the Emblem. I will not allow you to march straight into a Plegian ambush with naught but a squad of pegasus knights for protection. You are too valuable to Ylisse."

Emmeryn glared at him, but Walter refused to back down. She eventually sighed, and nodded, before turning to Gerald and Ellen. "I assume this means you are both coming as well?"

Gerald nodded. "There is no way in hell that I'm leaving you alone with him," Gerald responded. "And as much as I hate to say it, he's right. You're being ridiculous about this."

Emmeryn sighed in exasperation and nodded again. "Thank you then, King Gerald, for your kindness."

Phila gently pried Cordelia from her shoulder, and stood her up straight. "Cordelia, you are to remain here with Prince Chrom."

"B-but Captain!" Cordelia, began, but Phila silenced her with a hand.

"I know your heart is heavy," she said soothingly, "but this is the way it must be. Our knight-sisters will be with you in spirit, wherever you go."

"….May they grant me strength," Cordelia sighed. "As you command, Captain. I will pray for your safety."

"Emm, stop!" Chrom shouted in frustration. "This is madness!"

"Chrom," Emmeryn said in the tone of a mother about to lose patience with a petulant child, "you don't-"

"Walking to your death will not bring peace to anyone!" Chrom shouted angrily. "Ylisse needs you. _We_ need you! Be selfish for once in your life!"

Emmeryn was silent for a second, before offering that same, sad smile. "I love you, Chrom," She finally said, quietly. "You and Lissa are my everything. As for the peace I seek…" she glanced once at the corpse of Vasto, before shaking her head. "You cannot yet see who it is for. I am sorry-I truly am. Let us embrace again, in Ylisstol, when you arrive with Feroxi reinforcements." She turned to mount Phila's pegasus again, Walter, Gerald, Ellen, and the other three pegasus knights following suit. "I know you will come."

"This is a terrible plan," Chrom stated dully, hopelessly.

"The blood of the First Exalt flows strong in us," Emmeryn said reassuringly. "You and I will keep Ylisse safe. I believe it with all my heart. Safe journey, Chrom. Safe journey, Lissa."

Walter could hear Chrom shouting for them to come back as the pegasi took off. Walter didn't hear a prince, though; he heard a young man who had had his mother and father taken from him already, unwilling to lose the last older family member he had left.

000

The Exalt's party was fast approaching Ylisstol. They had flown through the night at the Exalt's behest, her need to return to her people driving them forward. They had made excellent progress. With most of the Ylissean Council and the Shepherds left behind, with only 8 people across four Pegasi remaining, they had no need to circumvent treacherous terrain or wait for the ground-bound members of the party to catch up. Pegasi were far faster than Walter would have thought.

Walter cursed, however, at the sight that greeted them with the sunrise. Ylisstol stood as resplendent as ever, if it were not for the massive army approaching it from the south, the yellow standard of King Gangrel flying across the army.

"Gods, no," he barely heard Emmeryn gasp over the wind. "Where is General Thorne? Where is the Army?"

"It doesn't matter now," Gerald said grimly. "We need to rendezvous with whoever's in charge of the defense of the city."

"When we left, Captain Siegfried was in charge of the defense," Phila supplied. "He is likely at the palace, marshalling the garrison."

"Then that is where we must go," Ellen stated succinctly. The Pegasi turned slightly, angling toward the palace. Walter eyed the approaching army with apprehension; from what he knew, the entire Ylissean Army was smaller than this single part of Plegia's. This war looked more grim by the day; they were heavily outnumbered, and apparently members of the Council were under their influence as well.

When they set down in the palace courtyard twenty minutes later, a silver haired, armored man with a large moustache came dashing out from the palace.

"Your Grace, what in the gods' names are you doing here?" The man shouted in panic. "The Plegian Army is at our gates, I had been told you had left for Castle Draug!"

"I will not abandon my people to save myself, Captain Siegfried," Emmeryn responded as she dismounted Phila's pegasus. "What steps have you taken to ensure their safety in the coming battle?"

"We have moved everyone from the exterior of the city, and the residents of the poor quarter, up into the higher reaches of the mercantile district and the noble quarter for now," Siegfried responded. "We have begun evacuating them from the northern gate, but I fear that we will be forced to seal the gates before they have all fled to Regna Ferox."

 _No one leaves this place alive. No one._ Walter shook his head again. Remembering Greyhampton was the last thing he needed to be doing.

"No," he said aloud. The Captain and the Exalt both turned to him. "We are not trapping the civilians within this city during a siege. I will hold the gates open myself, with whatever soldiers you can spare that will volunteer. Once the last of the civilians have escaped and gained a safe distance, we will rejoin the defense."

"That's practically a suicide mission," Siegfried responded in disbelief.

"So be it," Walter said with finality.

"Alright, if you're sure," Siegfried responded with the tone of a man who believed him daft. "I'll put out a call for volunteers. Your Grace, this way," he said, turning back to the Exalt. "We must get you to safety during the battle." Emmeryn nodded morosely, before shooting Walter an unreadable glance and following him into the palace, Phila and her pegasus knights on her tail.

"For the record, this doesn't absolve you of your sins in Greyhampton," Gerald said coldly from behind him.

"Nothing ever will," Walter responded resignedly after a moment of silence. "I can only do what I can to ensure that there are no more senseless deaths."

Gerald shot Walter a look of mixed hostility and uncertainty, before nodding. "No more senseless deaths," he said in agreement. "Let's get moving, the Plegian Army won't just stand there all day."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 **The Battle of Ylisstol**

Walter was pleased with the number of soldiers who had volunteered to defend the northern gate and the civilian convoy. Two hundred swordsmen and lancers, forty archers, and a unit of twenty mages were now at his command. In truth, he had had many more volunteers, but they simply couldn't spare them from the main defense; there were only a couple thousand soldiers in Ylisse to begin with. Gerald had deferred command to Walter, stating that as a foreign sovereign, he couldn't just assume command of another nation's soldiers. Walter thought that was a rather flimsy excuse, but could not come up with another reason Gerald would defer, and had let the matter drop. Ellen had taken a unit of infantrymen and were escorting the civilians northward, in case of brigands or Risen.

The siege had begun an hour ago. The Plegian army had begun their assaults on the southern and western gates, and even from miles away Walter could hear the steady crashing of catapults and twanging of bowstring as the two armies fired death at one another. As Walter had expected, the Plegian Army's commander, King Gangrel himself by all reports, had sent a detachment of soldiers to cut off the northern escape route; a unit outnumbering his own forces four to one. He could see several flying shapes, wyverns, at the rear of the detachment.

Walter sighed, before turning to his newly appointed adjutant, Harold. He was a weathered looking old knight, reportedly having been witness to the last war. "Have the scouts reported back?"

"Yes sir," Harold responded. "Their formation is almost entirely infantry, with fewer archers than we have, and no sorcerers or mages. There are about one hundred and fifty wyvern riders behind them, however."

Walter hummed. "Have our mages and archers prioritize the wyverns above anything not directly threatening them. Has Captain Siegfried answered back about the cavalry I requested?"

"Yes sir," Harold responded gravely. "The battle outside of the southern gate is too dire to spare any."

 _A straightforward melee then,_ Walter thought with a nonverbal sigh. Outnumbered as they were, and with the enemy possessing aerial cavalry, the odds were certainly against them. _So be it._ The road they were defending ran to the northwest of the gate, before turning north, straight to Regna Ferox. As such, Walter had his men stationed along the length of the northwest stretch, the road just outside of arrow range of the positions he would force the Plegians to take.

"Command our ranged units to keep an eye on the wyvern riders," he commanded. "If they decide to simply fly over the battle and attack the caravan, I want them ripped from the sky before they even get halfway there."

"Aye sir," Harold responded, before sending a runner off to relay the orders.

Walter hated waiting. The calm before the storm was nerve wracking, especially when one watched the enemy army march inexorably forward. As the Plegian force neared, he heard the faintest hint of a marching song, which died quickly once they drew near. The formation stopped just outside arrow range, and a figure muscled his way forward to the front of the line, stopping at the halfway point between the two armies. Walter recognized the man; it was that general, Mustafa if he remembered correctly, from the battle of Themis. The one general of Plegia that seemed to possess a modicum of honor. _Perhaps I can convince him to retreat and leave the civilians alone._

"Who is in command here?" Mustafa shouted. Walter strode forward, just to the point where they could speak without fully shouting, and Mustafa leveled a wry grin at him. "I remember you. The Demon of Themis."

Walter couldn't help but laugh. "Are you Plegians that afraid of me?"

"Any sane man would fear a warrior who can slaughter dozens of men by himself," Mustafa chuckled, before his face drew grim. "I have been ordered to assure that no civilians escape Ylisse, by any means necessary. I wish to avoid needless bloodshed. Order the civilians to return to the city, and I will allow you all to live."

"What, so they can simply meet the 'mercy' of Gangrel later?" Gerald snarled from behind Walter. Walter hadn't even heard the man walk up behind him. "I think we'll pass."

Mustafa shot Gerald a glance that clearly showed his lack of concern for his opinion, before turning back to Walter. "Do you accept my offer, Ylissean commander?"

"You are not a man without honor, General Mustafa," Walter responded. "I know you have no desire to murder the innocent. Turn back now, and we can just avoid this sordid affair."

Mustafa sighed in resignation, slumping almost imperceptibly at the shoulders "I am bound to serve the king," he said, standing straighter and drawing his axe. "I served King Gangrel's father, and before that his uncle. I have served the Plegian Throne my entire life, and I will not stop today."

"You would murder the innocent, and potentially die, on the whims of a madman?" Walter asked incredulously. He consciously ignored the quiet but pointed cough from Gerald behind him.

Mustafa's face turned into a slight scowl and he drew his axe. "This is your last chance," he warned. "Turn the civilian convoy around, or we will be forced to attack."

Walter sighed in resignation before drawing his own weapon. "So be it," he said with a tone of finality. "The blood of all of those who die today will be on your king's hands, and yours."

With that, the Plegian commander began striding back to his line, shouting orders. Walter and Gerald turned around, returning to their own men. Walter began barking orders as the Plegian line marched forward, taking a position at the crest of a small hill, where he could keep a better eye on the battle. As much as he would prefer to fight alongside his men, there were too many to keep easy track of in the thick of battle.

Walter adopted a frown, however; Mustafa was arranging his men in a mirrored formation to his own, only thicker due to the extra men. _What is he thinking?_ Walter thought. _He has more than enough men to attempt to flank or simply go around us. Arranging his men like this denies them the full extent of their numerical advantage, locks soldiers behind their own allies. Are all Plegian generals so dense?_ The wyvern riders were hanging back as well; Walter could only assume that they were waiting until the archers and mages were bogged down in melee. Walter would not let that happen. He ordered twenty of his men to remain by them.

"Archers and mages, fire when the enemy is within range!" he shouted as the Plegians began charging instead of marching. "But keep an eye on those wyverns!" Walter began to feel uneasy, however. The Plegians were about to meet his own men in melee, but they still refrained from attempting to flank. Walter gave a slight wince as the two sides met in a thunderous crash, ranged units on both sides firing blindly into the melee. Walter began casting his own spells. He refrained from his highest level spells, however; with the two armies so thoroughly entangled, he would kill too many of his own men. He settled for simple fireballs, lightning spears, or ice spikes, aiming for the back of their ranks.

Despite the arcane and archer superiority of his forces, the Plegian army was still pushing forward… but too slowly, for the amount of men they had. They seemed to be taking pains to avoid casualties as well, pulling back in places when there were too many injuries. The dead on both sides was remarkably light for a battle of this magnitude. He spied Mustafa himself in the melee here or there; leading from the front. As admirable as that was, and as unnervingly skilled as he was with that axe, he was not issuing orders while he was in the melee.

 _What is this fool up to?_ Walter thought, unnerved and even annoyed. _Is this some sort of trap?_ He cast his gaze out across the plains around Ylisstol, but saw no other enemies beyond the bulk of the Plegian Army, still engaged at the southern and western portions of the city.

"To hell with this," Walter muttered. He turned to Gerald, who was looking at him quizzically. "Take command of the battle," he ordered. "Something isn't right here. I'm going to face Mustafa myself, put an end to this farce."

"What, you're not happy that they're not flanking and destroying us?" Gerald asked sardonically. "Personally, I enjoy it when my enemies are being idiots."

"No, I'm not happy," Walter replied frankly. "There is no sense to this, and I am hard pressed to believe a man could serve as long as he has and not be executed for this level of incompetence. There is something amiss here."

"Whatever," Gerald said, rolling his eyes. "Go have your little chat. I'll keep the army in line."

Walter nodded, and then strode into the melee. It took him a minute to shove his way through the back of his lines, and he jumped into the fray the second he saw Plegian armor. To his annoyance, the Plegians seemed to be avoiding him at all costs; several of them outright fled when he squared up against them.

Letting out a growl of irritation, he went against his better instincts and began pushing through the Plegian ranks as well. As suicidal as his mind screamed it was, to dive into the enemy ranks, his first guess was correct; the Plegians were avoiding him. Several even openly stepped out of his way. One even gestured to one side of the melee; Walter could see General Mustafa's huge frame. Scowling at the Plegian, he muscled past the enemies, disregarding the potential threats in his annoyance.

"What are you playing at, General!" he shouted when he was within earshot of Mustafa. The general turned from where he was facing off against several Ylissean soldiers. Several men already lay on the ground around Mustafa; some missing limbs or bleeding heavily, but all curiously alive.

"I play at nothing, Ylissean," Mustafa replied stoically as he lowered his axe.

"Do not toy with me," Walter spat in response. "You are refusing to take advantage of your numerical superiority, and your men openly avoid facing me. What are you doing?"

"You are no fool, commander," Mustafa answered. "If you think on it, you will understand why I do what I am doing. As for why my men avoid you, you earned quite the reputation at Themis. I would expect no sane man to willingly jump into combat against you."

Walter opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat as he looked at the injured soldiers laying around Mustafa. None of them were dead. He knew Mustafa was deadly with that axe; he had bested Duke Themis, and had served the Plegian throne for years, as far back as the previous war. But Mustafa was restraining himself, however, aiming only to injure. He gave a quick glance around; his own men were fighting with passion and bravery, as he would expect, but the Plegians were focusing on simply defending themselves, and only injuring the Ylisseans. Walter saw several of his own soldiers noticing it as well; they moved unsurely, cautiously, expecting the same trap he did.

 _But there is no trap,_ Walter realized. _Mustafa is holding back on purpose. Allowing the civilians to escape while maintaining appearances._

"Ah, good, you've figured it out," Mustafa said with a grin, as if reading his mind.

"Why?" Walter demanded shortly.

"I have two duties," Mustfa answered. "My duty to my liege, and my duty to my men. I am obligated to follow my king's orders. I am also obligated to value and preserve the lives of my men. I act as I do in pursuit of both aims. And I've no desire to slaughter the helpless."

Walter was silent for a moment, and then nodded in recognition. Two could play at that game. "Order the archers and mages to cease fire!" he shouted to his own men. "They…need to conserve their magic and arrows for the wyverns. Order the soldiers to focus on defending their lives above all else. Do not overextend, or advance if they fall back."

Mustafa gave a respectful nod as the Ylissean soldiers began holding back ever so slightly. "Thank you, Ylissean," Mustafa said.

Walter returned the nod, before walking back through his ranks, returning to his command post, where he saw Gerald grinning smugly.

"I see your chat went well," he said wryly.

Walter gave a shallow snort of laughter. "Indeed. You knew what he was doing, didn't you?"

"It wasn't that hard to figure out," Gerald said, "if you understand the concept of honor."

Walter let the dig go unanswered, and turned his attention to the battle. He bit back a laugh; it looked more like a unit training exercise than a battle, now. A mockery of violent conflict, as the civilians continued to evacuate behind him. Still, this was the Plegian Army; Walter remained vigilant for signs of treachery, or of Plegian reinforcements moving in. Mustafa's goodwill was not all-powerful, nor was he the only general in the Plegian Army.

A half hour passed with no significant casualties on either side, before Walter heard a series of horn calls sounding from the Plegian army in the distance. He frowned as he heard Mustafa order a retreat, and the Plegians began falling back.

"Now what trickery are they up to?" Walter asked nobody in particular.

"It would appear the Plegians are retreating, in case your vision is failing you," Gerald supplied to Walter's consternation. "I don't know why, though."

Walter scowled. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. "Harold," he said to his adjutant, "You have command of the men here. Remain vigilant; I am returning to the Palace, to speak with Captain Siegfried."

"Aye sir," Harold responded as the troops began falling back into their default formations.

"You're getting a bad feeling too?" Gerald asked.

"Something is amiss," Walter said with a frown as they began striding back toward the city. "The Plegian army was more than capable of laying siege or even breaking down the gates. It makes no sense for them to retreat."

"And I doubt it has anything to do with Gangrel finding a conscience," Gerald agreed.

000

"Captain, what happened?" Walter asked as he and Gerald strode into the Council chambers, which the Ylissean army had turned into a war room. It was currently filled with officers, Captain Siegfried at the head of the table. "Why did the Plegian army retreat?"

Captain Siegfried was bent over the enormous circular table, his face in his hands. He looked up at Walter, and then gave a poignant sigh. "Lady Emmeryn agreed to terms with King Gangrel," he said quietly.

"What terms?" Gerald asked gravely.

"King Gangrel agreed to withdraw his men if…" he swallowed hard, "if she would surrender to his custody."

The room suddenly became very, very cold. "What?" Walter asked, his mind not processing what he had just been told.

"They were about to breach the western gate," Siegfried explained. "Lady Emmeryn…she refused to listen to our counsel. She spoke with Gangrel from atop the wall, and agreed to surrender herself if he were to retreat."

Walter let out a rush of air. Chrom would be enraged. The Ylissean people would panic. Emmeryn would most likely die, and with her went the last chance for a peaceful solution.

"Gangrel made it known that he will be executing her within a month," Siegfried stated hollowly after a moment of silence. "Far too soon for most of the Army to arrive at the Plegian capital to save her. We have dispatched a messenger to Regna Ferox, to inform Prince Chrom and ask for his orders."

"We need to prepare what we can of the Army," Walter answered. "Prince Chrom will almost certainly head straight for Plegia, and we need to be behind him when he does."

"We were just discussing that when you came in," Siegfried answered. "Our best estimates on time to prepare will be two weeks."

Walter cursed. The messenger would be to Ferox and back within three days, Chrom assuredly on the messenger's heels. He doubted Chrom would wait eleven days for the Army to move out. The look on Siegfried's face told Walter he already knew that.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Gerald asked.

"I'm sure there is," Siegfried sighed, "but I'll send for you when I figure it out. I'm not in the Army myself, I'm just the captain of the Royal Guard. I'm only in charge because all of the people higher than I am were deployed along the Plegian border with the rest of the Army. As such, this is all pretty new to me. I haven't had to handle troop logistics on this scale before."

"Where is the rest of the Army?" Walter asked with a frown. "One would think that they would have noticed almost ten thousand Plegians marching past them."

"All we have is the report of a single pegasus knight," Siegfried answered. "Gangrel exploited a hole in the line across the border, on the southern half of the Plegian border, on the exact opposite end from where they were expected to come. They punched through, dispatched a quarter of the Plegian army to each side of the breach to push the hole wider and hold off any counter attacks, and went on a straight shot for the capital." He sighed. "The pegasus knight was gravely wounded when she arrived. She passed during the night."

Walter bowed his head in reverence. The young red headed knight he had seen at Breakneck Pass, Cordelia, truly was the last pegasus knight.

"But enough of grim tidings for now," Siegfried said. "I hear you did an excellent job holding the northern road open. Most of the civilians have escaped."

Walter gave a wan smile. "It was only because the Plegian general was holding back."

Siegfried raised an eyebrow. "Truly?" he asked, his curiosity carrying a tinge of suspicion. "Why is that?"

"It would appear that at least one of Plegia's generals is a man of honor," Walter replied. "General Mustafa was also at Themis; he offered the Duke an opportunity to stand down and avoid bloodshed."

"Mustafa, you said?" Siegfried asked in shock. Walter nodded, and Siegfried let out a bark of a laugh. "By Naga, I would have thought the Mad King would have had him executed by now. I know of the man. He fought in the last war, a Captain then. Earned himself a reputation as 'the only man in both armies with a shred of honor', and as a good strategist." Siegfried gave another laugh, then shook his head. "Don't know what Gangrel expected to accomplish, sending that man to kill civilians. Maybe he'd only heard of his strategic skill."

"Perhaps," Walter said with a shrug. "Regardless, we must turn our attention to the present. King Gerald and I have both been in command of armies before. We can prepare the troops for the Prince's arrival, if you will allow."

"By all means, please do!" Siegfried responded a little too quickly. "To be perfectly honest, I'm out of my depth here. I've never had more than a city under my command before, moving troops across countries is beyond my expertise. Please, do what you can. I'll make sure your orders are followed."

"Why isn't Captain Phila helping?" Gerald asked. "She spent most of her life as a commander in the Army, she's more than capable."

"She was gravely injured," Siegfried responded quietly. "When the Exalt went to the wall, the Plegians fired at her before she could call a stop to hostilities. Phila dove her pegasus in front of the arrows, and her subordinates followed her. The other knights…" Siegfried trailed off, and the two needed no further clarification. "But Captain Phila yet lives, though her situation is dire. Our best clerics are tending her as we speak."

"I see," Gerald replied succinctly.

"We'll have to keep an eye on the situation," Walter said. "For now, let's see what we can do about getting the men ready to move."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 **War Preparation**

Walter sighed in frustration as he read through yet another stack of reports. Not that he was frustrated with the paperwork; his work with the Patriarchal Emissaries had seen him through more paperwork than any man should ever have to deal with. No, he was frustrated with the Ylissean Army, the capital's garrison in particular.

It was a slow, cumbersome thing. It was almost entirely designed for defense; heavily armored knights, foot soldiers trained mostly to patrol and not march, archers with little battle experience outside of fortified positions, and mages with such poor physical standards Walter struggled to even call them soldiers. Scholars of destructive magic, possibly, but not soldiers. Fine for Emmeryn's purposes of healing and protecting her own people within her own borders, but the structure of this army was a nightmare for any offensive maneuvers. At least he had no shortage of clerics, he supposed. A good tenth of the entire army was capable of using healing magic.

It had been two days since the messenger had been dispatched to Regna Ferox to inform Prince Chrom of his sister's abduction, and the Army was _still_ nowhere near ready to move. Even with Gerald and Siegfried's help, they'd barely gotten a supply convoy prepared to move behind the troops when they marched. Phila was recovering well under the ministrations of the castle's healers, so that was one bit of news. Walter had lent his own expertise in healing magic when the clerics had been unable to truly stem the bleeding from a particularly nasty chest wound. By his own prowess, and the not inconsiderable skill of the Palace's best sages, she was recovering swiftly. She would be well enough to march with them, if she so chose (and Walter was certain she would), and by the time they reached Plegia she should be well enough for battle. They would only be able to bring a little over four hundred men with them; any more, and they risked leaving Ylisstol too understaffed to weather another assault from any significant enemy force. Four hundred men and a proportionally sized supply train were supposed to pierce the Plegian border guard numbering in the thousands, reach their capital, rescue the Exalt, and retreat back across the border to plan the rest of the war.

Walter was no stranger to suicide missions, but this was just ridiculous.

Walter was beginning to lose his temper in frustration; he had already snapped at several aides, and all of the runners were terrified of him already. He had just finished barking at the latest runner when the door to the Council chambers burst open.

In strode an Ylissean man in resplendent blue armor wielding a large silver lance, clearly a high ranking officer. One who had recently seen battle; the opulent armor was scratched, singed, and dented in several places. The man removed his full-face helm to reveal a man of Walter's age, with a bald head and a stark white, chest length beard. Around his bald head was a set of bloodied bandages; the battle must have been recent.

"What is going on here!?" The man barked. Every soldier in the area jumped to attention and saluted.

"Can I help you, sir?" Walter questioned across the table at the man.

"You can help me by telling me what in the nine hells happened here!" the man barked, before narrowing his steel grey eyes at Walter. "Who are you, anyway? You're no officer that I recognize."

"I am Walter, of Prince Chrom's Shepherds," Walter introduced himself. "I escorted Her Grace back to Ylisstol when she separated from the Shepherds at Breakneck Pass."

"Oh, so it's _your_ fault!" the man thundered as he marched forward furiously. "After two days of straight battle, I receive word that the capital is under attack. And what do we find on our way back? The Mad bloody King with our own Exalt in chains!" He growled in rage."Now, Walter, do you mind explaining how you go from escorting our Exalt back to the capital to _throwing her to the wolves!?_ "

Walter bit back the rising ire in his chest; the man had just come from a battlefield. His nerves were frayed. His belligerence was forgivable. "I did no such thing," Walter explained patiently. "Upon returning to the capital, I was assigned to protect the civilian retreat from the city by Captain Siegfried. Lady Emmeryn surrendered herself to the Plegian Army to stop the siege. I could do nothing about it."

"Siegfried, eh?" the man responded, his temper dying down somewhat. "And tell me, why am I hearing your name on the lips of messengers passing out orders, and not his?"

"Captain Siegfried openly admitted that he has no experience with organizing armies," Walter replied evenly. "I do have that experience. As does King Gerald. Siegfried authorized us to plan the deployment of the Ylisstol garrison in pursuit of the Exalt."

The man's temper finally fully abated, and he strode over to the table, eyeing the reports, maps, and troop orders critically. "Hmm. Well, your methods aren't what I'd use and probably why the troops are so confused out there, but it's certainly better than what Siegfried could do." He hummed contemplatively, before looking back to Walter and holding out his hand. "General Roark Thorne, Grand General of the Ylissean Army."

Walter started. _This_ was the Grand General? Wasn't he at the border? Walter took his hand and shook it. "A pleasure to meet you, General. Why did you leave the border?"

"I only left with two regiments of men," Thorne explained. "Most of the Army is still positioned along the border. What's left of it, anyway," he grumbled. "The damned Plegians hit us right where we didn't expect it. We lost far too many men to those heretic dogs. Our positions on the border are tenuous, but they will hold."

Walter nodded grimly. Getting outmaneuvered was never pleasant. Taking massive casualties was even less so. "My sincerest apologies for your loss, General," Walter said.

"We'll get the bastards," Thorne vowed. "We'll finish what we started fifteen years ago, and rid the world of those heretics for good."

Walter frowned. _The Exalt would never approve of that attitude,_ he thought. _Does he conceal it around her? Or does she know, and do nothing?_ He decided that was a matter for another time. "What would you like to do with my plans, General?" he asked instead.

"We'll have to revise them," Thorne sighed. "I brought a little over one thousand men with me, and these logistics won't get us halfway to the border with an army this size." He hummed. "Perhaps we could fold some of the men you had slated for the army into the supply corps."

Walter nodded. "That could work," he conceded, before pointing to the maps. "I have been trying to determine the best route into and out of Plegia. I know you are a veteran of the last war. What would you suggest?"

Thorne laughed. "This will be my fourth trip to the Plegian capital," he said with a devilish grin. "Let's see if they managed to cover any of the previous routes I took in."

From there, the two spent several hours going over and revising the plans. Walter found the man surprisingly blunt and jovial for a man that Robin had made sound like an arrogant noble, and Walter almost found himself liking the man. Almost being the operative word. The man seemed possessed of a lust for Plegian blood; Walter had had to convince him on two separate occasions that destroying non-military targets on the way to the capital was unacceptable; the second time, he had had to invoke the Exalt's name when he was insistent on scorching the earth of one of Plegia's few fertile farmlands. Gerald had come by for a few minutes, greeting Thorne as if they had already met, before saying that he was going to see about getting volunteers from the civilians that remained and leaving again.

They were just wrapping things up when the Council doors burst open again, causing Walter to jump and nearly dump the inkpot on their carefully laid plans. In the door strode Chrom, Robin, Lissa, and Frederick, all looking like they'd ridden through the night…which they probably had. Chrom had fire in him, however; Walter prepared himself for the coming storm.

"Rouse the men," he ordered loudly. "We march to Plegia!"

"Prince Chrom, you can't be serious," Thorne responded in a tone that was so flippant that Walter almost choked in surprise. "You look like your horse was using you for shoes on the way here. You are in no condition to fight Plegians."

"I. Don't. Care." Chrom said through clenched teeth. "I will not leave my sister to suffer in Gangrel's hands for one more minute than we have to!"

"You will," Thorne answered defiantly, stepping away from the table as Walter took an involuntary step back. This looked like it would get ugly. "You may be the acting head of the Exalted Line, but I will not allow you to lead these men into a slaughter because you're too angry to be rational!"

Chrom's gaze turned outright murderous before Robin grabbed his arm to forestall the coming shouting match. "Chrom, he's right," Robin urged in the voice of a man who'd had this argument a million times already. "You can't fight like this. Your own sister, the younger one, can barely stand. Let them rest, we'll leave first thing in the morning. We have a month to save her, a few hours won't break us."

Chrom growled, before roaring in frustration, then storming back out through the doors, Frederick and Lissa right behind him. Robin trudged tiredly over to the table, before throwing himself down into a random chair and sighing in exhaustion.

"That's the Hierarch's seat, boy," Thorne growled. "You have no right to sit-"

"Oh, bugger off," Robin groaned flippantly as he threw his head down on the table into his arms. Walter could practically see smoke rising from Thorne's head, his face turning a color that had Walter concerned for the man's health. "Your bloody Hierarch betrayed the Exalt, and King Gerald took care of that problem immediately. So this is nobody's seat right now, and I need to sit down for a minute before I get to work."

Thorne was taken aback, before glancing at Walter. Walter nodded to confirm it. Thorne shook his head sadly, before scoffing. "Whatever. Be ready to march in the morning. I won't delay the march just so you can get your beauty sleep." He didn't wait for a reply before storming out of the Council chambers.

Walter sank down into the chair next to Robin's. "We have already finished planning the Army's march," Walter offered. "Your offer to help is appreciated, but unnecessary."

Robin raised his head blearily and shook it. "No, I have to keep going. Chrom wants the Shepherds screening the main army's advance, but there was only so much planning I could do without access to the Army's plans. If I start now, I can finish quickly enough to get a couple-"

"Go to bed, Robin," Walter insisted, Robin's voice stuttering to a halt tiredly. "I can make some preliminary plans, and you can pick which one you would like to follow and make revisions as we set out tomorrow morning. You do the Shepherds and Ylisse a disservice, trying to work in this state."

Robin sighed in tired frustration, before finally acquiescing with a nod. "I suppose you're right," he said blearily. "I can't even remember basic troop formations right now." He yawned as he stood up."If you need my help, I'll be in the Shepherds barracks, trying to ignore Vaike's snoring. Don't hesitate to call on me."

"I won't," Walter lied, as Robin stood up and strode from the door. He then looked down at the paperwork once more, before sighing resignedly at the workload he'd placed on himself. It looked like he would be skipping the evening prayer once again.

000

"Good morning, Prince Chrom," Walter greeted in the pre-dawn light of the early morning. The Prince merely raised his hand in weary acknowledgment before trudging over to the rest of the Shepherds, who were standing in a loose formation outside of their barracks. _For a man so resistant to the idea of rest,_ Walter mused, _he sure does seem reluctant to leave his bed._ He followed the Prince over to the rest of the formation.

"Good morning, Shepherds," Chrom began speaking, trying his best to mask the tiredness in his voice and replace it with a semblance of confidence. "As some of you may have already heard, we will be screening the Army's advance into Plegia, acting as scouts, occasionally even breaking down key fortifications that stand in the Army's path."

"I say we break them all down!" Sully roared from the left of the formation, which received a rousing cheer from some of the more bright eyed and bushy tailed Shepherds.

Chrom leveled a tired half grin. "As satisfying as I'm sure that would be, we're on a time limit, and destroying the Plegian Army to the last man would take far longer than the month we have. As it stands, we're already pressed for time. While the Shepherds alone could reach the Plegian castle in days, we would never escape the country. That means that the Army has to follow us, to distract the bulk of the Plegian Army and provide us an escape route. Khan Flavia will also be meeting us at the border, with four thousand of Regna Ferox's finest. From there, we will punch our way through to the capital, rescue Emmeryn, and hopefully escape alive. Any questions?"

Walter felt a wave of surprise at that pronouncement. General Thorne and he hadn't accounted on more than a thousand Feroxi troops, given their relatively small population and the logistics of moving such a large force across the continent. Four thousand men, and the accompanying logistics train, comprised a significant portion of the Feroxi Army. Around a third, if Walter remembered correctly. Walter was both relieved, and somewhat suspicious. Why would Khan Flavia commit such a large portion of her Army? She hadn't seemed the conniving, political sort he was used to dealing with, but one cannot rule a nation without politics, so he assumed she must have some experience. He would keep an eye on the situation…just in case.

"No?" Chrom asked when all he received in response was silence. "Alright then, let's move out!"

"You heard the Prince!" Frederick's voice cracked like a whip when no one moved for a moment. "Get to your horses, if you have them; get your belongings loaded onto the cart! We don't have all day!"

That woke the Shepherds up; they immediately bolted, either back into the barracks to retrieve their things, or to the stables to mount their horses. Walter also hurried over to the stables and grabbed the same chestnut colored mare he had ridden to Themis (though he knew not how it had been returned; he had been forced to leave it behind, being in no condition to ride), and swiftly returned to the growing convoy. Robin waved him over to the front of the column, where the Exalted siblings and Frederick were also standing.

"Thanks for doing my job for me last night," Robin greeted sheepishly. "I normally would have argued, but the forced march overnight killed me."

"Think nothing of it," Walter replied genuinely. "What are allies for, if not to support one another?"

"True," Robin replied thoughtfully as Frederick shouted the order to move out. Robin had no horse of his own, and was forced to walk alongside the rest of them. Chrom muttered something about "damned couriers" and not getting requisition orders through. "I also have to say, I like your plans. I picked the second one."

Walter nodded. That particular plan called for heavy aerial reconnaissance via Sumia and Cordelia; Walter had often found himself longing for more subtle aerial units than Storm Riders or Bomber Wings back in Bersia, and was perfectly content using the Pegasus Knights to their full advantage. "I only hope that they don't get worn out," Walter replied. "We only have the two Pegasus knights."

"Three, actually," Robin amended. "Captain Phila volunteered to come along. She's up in the Pegasus stables right now with Cordelia and Sumia, they'll be catching up shortly."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Is the Captain fit to ride?" he asked dubiously. "I tended several of her more severe wounds myself after the siege. I wouldn't have given her less than a week to be up at full strength. I had planned on her coming along, but wouldn't have put her on duty until we were well into Plegia."

Robin snorted as they passed under the portcullis to the main palace, setting off down through Ylisstol. "Like that would stop her. If Captain Phila is anything, it's stubborn."

"I heard that!" a voice shouted from above them. Robin's face drained of color as they both looked up and noticed Captain Phila, Sumia and Cordelia in tow, flying towards them.

"Damn, I didn't think they'd be ready that quickly," Robin whispered, so quietly Walter could barely hear him. Walter just chuckled.

"I'll be healed by the time we hit the Plegian border," Phila said as her pegasus lightly made landfall next to them. "You've no need to worry about me."

Walter shrugged in acceptance. "As long as you are certain," Walter replied.

"In that case," Robin piped in, "You'll be on the first patrol when we get to the border. Since you're so enthusiastic about this little trip and all."

Phila shot Robin a deadpan glare, which elicited a laugh from him. Before Phila could bite off a retort, the sound of wingbeats drowned out the sound as Sumia and Cordelia landed; Sumia on the other side of Frederick, on the opposite side of Chrom from them, and Cordelia next to Captain Phila. Walter noticed that despite her best (and admittedly quite skilled) attempts at covering it with makeup, her eyes had noticeable bags underneath them, and despite her composure she was obviously dead in the saddle. _Has she even slept since Breakneck Pass?_ Walter found himself wondering.

"Sir Walter, Sir Robin," Cordelia greeted. Despite her obvious exhaustion, her voice was clear and alert; Walter couldn't tell if it was fake, or if she was truly awake.

"We've been over this, Cordelia," Robin groaned, "I'm not a 'sir'."

"Nor am I any longer," Walter added. "King Gerald effectively stripped me of my title and lands when he sentenced me to death."

Cordelia shot Walter a strange look. _Has nobody told her?_ Walter wondered. _She will find out, I'm sure,_ he thought resignedly as her expression shifted interchangeably from confusion to alarm. He also noted frequent, worried glances in Chrom's direction. _A devoted knight, I see,_ he mused. _Though how devoted?_ He wondered as one of those glances lingered a bit longer than necessary.

"From what I gather, the area of your estate was utterly ravaged in the Encablossa War," a new voice said. Walter turned in the saddle to see Ellen striding up, armed and armored. He hadn't known she'd returned; she must have sent the convoy escort ahead without her. "Even if you weren't exiled and formally sentenced to death, your home is a barren field now."

"Lovely," Walter remarked quietly, lamenting the loss of his childhood home. The home where he'd lived far too shortly with his wife and Thomas… "Where is Gerald?" Walter asked, pulling his mind from days long past. "Does he not normally have you on night watch, while he watches me during the day?"

"Normally, yes," Ellen responded grumpily. "If you must know, he's been running himself ragged with it. I forced him to switch shifts for the time being. He's not twenty years old anymore, I keep telling him, yet he thinks he can do everything himself."

Phila snorted at this. "Men," she spat out like a curse. "It seems even across worlds they're thickheaded fools."

Ellen laughed at that. "Indeed they are," she agreed. "The Hironeiden Court is full of the idiots, small wonder nothing gets done!"

Walter rolled his eyes as the two women began going on a tirade about the incompetence of the stronger sex, and turned to face forward. They were coming up on the western gate, the sun's light still barely touching the city streets. He could feel the occasional suspicious and curious glance from Cordelia as they marched, but he chose to ignore it for the time being.

They exited the city, and were greeted with the sight of hundreds of soldiers cleaning up the mess from the short siege; namely body disposal; a grim task that Walter was glad not to be part of. Even though the casualties were relatively light, given the brevity of the siege, and even though the efforts had been going on for two days, there were still hundreds of bodies lying about. Even now, he saw carrion birds circling above.

 _The birds will eat well for the next few months,_ he thought grimly as the Shepherds set off southwest, toward Plegia.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 **Judgment**

That night the Shepherds made camp, approximately three quarters of the way to Themis. It was a sober march; the Plegian army had destroyed much of the land around them, setting fire to any small copses of trees, trampling the earth, slaying wild animals where they stood. Prince Chrom had grown increasingly angry at the pointless devastation; Walter was beginning to worry for the Prince's mental state.

"Sir Walter," a voice called from behind Walter as he strode back to his tent with his dinner in tow. He turned around to see Maribelle striding toward him purposefully, her own dinner in hand.

"Good evening, Lady Maribelle," Walter greeted respectfully. And it was true respect, and not just dutiful deference; the young woman had impressed Walter with her resolve at Themis.

"I never had the chance to properly thank you," Maribelle stated. "You saved my city, and my father. I owe you a debt beyond repayment."

"It was nothing, Lady Maribelle," Walter responded. "I did only what was right."

"Nothing indeed," Maribelle stated haughtily. "You performed a miracle that night," she insisted. "My father was quite certain that without your intervention, the city would have been destroyed. He had originally planned to send the entire guard after the bandits. If the Plegian Army had arrived while the entire garrison was gone… and young Ricken has informed me of your involving him in the plan to rescue me from the Plegians at the border pass. It seems thrice you have done my house a favor."

"The boy would have come along anyway," Walter reasoned. "I thought it better to have a plan in place regarding him." He shuffled nervously, before asking the foremost question on his mind. "Did the Plegians…" he began, before trailing off. He had feared greatly for Maribelle's welfare when she had surrendered; prisoners of war were not treated kindly, and women even less so.

"They certainly tried," Maribelle snapped, before grinning coldly. "After the first man left gelded, however, there were no more attempts. Apparently the Plegians were not aware that mages simply use their tomes for reference, and that they are not reliant upon them to cast spells."

Walter shuddered involuntarily. He'd seen her cast fire magic. While nowhere near as potent as her father's or his own spells, she was formidable in her own right. And the thought of flame being put to…sensitive areas caused him to instinctively recoil.

"A fate those barbarians deserved," he said finally. "I am glad to see that you were not too mistreated."

"Your concern is much appreciated," Maribelle said humbly. "I do realize that we haven't had the most…civil of relations before, but I wish you to know that my father and I both consider you a dear friend of House Themis. If you have need of anything, you have but to ask."

Walter bowed gratefully. "I appreciate your offer," he responded. "And I wish you to know that you have earned my respect as well. It takes uncommon bravery to surrender oneself to the enemy, to sacrifice oneself for one's people. I had lectured you before of the flaws of nobility, but that night you exemplified all of nobility's virtues."

Maribelle blushed deeply at that praise, her pale skin turning a very deep pink. "Why, thank you, Sir Walter," she responded. "It does my heart good to hear such things."

"I am no Sir, Lady Maribelle," Walter reminded.

"Oh, bosh," she said flippantly, waving her hand. "You were born a noble, and despite being bereft of house and title, you retain your desire to serve the people and the crown. I say you are still a noble, and damned be anyone who disagrees!" With that, she smiled and turned, walking back to her own tent.

"I see you're making friends," Ellen remarked as she appeared from seemingly nowhere, slightly startling Walter. The woman had taken to following him while hidden, much to Walter's consternation. He had thought Gerald's hovering to be annoying, but for the woman to pretend that he didn't know she was there was beyond annoying. He could not tell if she did it simply to irritate him, or if she wished to be able to ambush him should her expectation of betrayal be met, but it irritated him nonetheless.

"I judged her far too harshly when we first met," Walter explained. "She seemed to be the typical arrogant noble that I was so distasteful of in Ecclesia."

"She certainly is a…cold woman," Ellen conceded. "Though I'm certainly not surprised to hear of you being judgmental."

Walter bristled at that as he began walking toward his tent again. "Do you care to expand on that?" He said testily.

"That's all Ecclesian nobles were good for, before the war," Ellen retorted. "Being judgmental, arrogant bastards. Six years of service to the Ecclesian Army, and the second the Court discovered that my mother was an Elf, they try to hand me over to the Inquisitors."

Walter shrugged apathetically. He didn't care for her grievances. Being an Ecclesian noble and a member of the Court, he had given his own input on the matter. "You joined the Army under false pretenses, with a mother belonging to one of the Lost races," Walter stated bluntly. "Your own subordinate turned you in as well; we had feared you were a spy for the Elves."

Though Ellen was behind him, he could practically feel her scowl burn into his back. "The Elves wanted less to do with me than you lot did," she spat. "Ebbard was young, naïve. He thought you would treat me fairly. He was wrong, of course. When he found out that the Court had ordered my arrest and 'interrogation', he followed me into the Pineth Mountains." He heard her huff in irritation. "I forgave him. It wasn't his fault you bastards were too cruel and dogmatic to see reason."

"If you were so spiteful of Ecclesia," Walter ground out through gritted teeth as he continued walking, "then why did you go there at all?" He had finally reached his tent. "Actually, nevermind," he spat as Ellen began biting off a retort. "I care little for the woes of some apostate, Half Elf whore." Without waiting for her response, he tore open his tent flap and ducked inside. The thick canvas dulled the sound as her temper exploded. After several minutes of incessant shouting that severely grated on his nerves and spoiled the peace of his meal, he heard her give an enraged cry and stomp away.

He didn't care. He barely stomached her presence at all, the subhuman filth. His desire to serve the Exalted Line was all that allowed him to tolerate her and Gerald both. He certainly wouldn't tolerate her disparaging the Ecclesian Empire, no matter how long it had been since it had fallen. The Ecclesian Empire was the herald of the Lord's will in Bersia; any disrespect to it was disrespect to the Lord. He would not suffer it. As Walter changed into his nightclothes and crawled into his cot, he silently fumed. He was growing tired of Gerald and Ellen's poor attitude. Reasons be damned, he had more important things to worry about that dealing with their constant insults.

He huffed as he rolled over and closed his eyes to sleep. Tomorrow would be better.

000

Walter was placing his belongings on the cart when it hit him. One second he was wedging his belongings in between Robin's and Vaike's, and the next he was stumbling to the ground, the side of his head in agony. He hadn't shaken off the disorientation before a hand grabbed the back of his armor and hauled him to his feet, spinning him and slamming him into the cart. He vaguely registered shouting, but scowled when he saw his assailant. It was Gerald of course; Ellen had likely crawled back to him, crying.

"Do you want to die, you bastard?" Gerald seethed. "Because you're really pushing your luck."

Walter's scowl turned into a full grimace. "Tell your whore-Queen to hold her tongue," Walter snarled back.

Gerald didn't like that answer, and punched Walter again. Walter felt his teeth rattling in his skull. He began gathering a lightning spell in his palm as Gerald pulled him up straight again.

"You listen here, you Ecclesian son of a bitch," Gerald spat. "You do not get to run your mouth. The only reason you're even allowed to breathe is because of my respect for the Exalt. But I will _not_ tolerate you insulting my wife." He drew Walter's face in closer. "Are we clear?"

Walter chose then to release his spell, point blank into Gerald's chest. He cried out in pain as a the lightning rent the air with a thunderous crack, and the force of the spell launched him several feet backwards, landing him squarely on his back. He rolled over in pain, gasping as the electricity arced across his armor, repeatedly shocking him.

"I have had enough of both of you," Walter growled. "I care little for your opinions. I answer to none but the Lord, and now the Exalted Line. I have tolerated your poor behavior out of understanding for your anger, but this is quite enough. I tire of your petty insults, and will not have you accosting me without provocation. We march to war, and you are so weak willed that you cannot control your anger even this once, over some petty slight?" Walter scoffed as Gerald forced himself to his feet. "I am surprised you have not led Hironeiden to ruin, with your childish temper."

Gerald's features turned into a furious snarl, and he went so far as to draw his sword. "Now, you listen here, you murdering son of-"

"Gerald, what are you doing!?" Ellen shouted, running around the few tents that were still up. She immediately saw her husband's pained and furious expression, the scorching from the lightning spell, and the drawn sword, and immediately surmised that Walter had betrayed Ylisse. She drew her own rapier and began moving around to Walter's flank. Walter scoffed in frustration and resignation, before drawing his own mace. His shield lay on the cart behind him, but he could not afford to turn his attention away to grab it. He opted instead to prepare another lightning spell in his hand. If they were to have it out and done with now, so be it. He would not hold back.

"What in the gods' names is going on here!?" a woman barked. The three soon-to-be combatants snapped their gazes to Walter's left to see Captain Phila walking over, still visibly stiff from her injuries.

"I'm giving Walter what he deserves," Gerald snapped. "Stay out of this."

"Excuse me?" Phila said softly, her tone taking a dangerous edge. "Perhaps you've forgotten, King Gerald, but you are in the Exalt's realm now. Her word is law. She gave you leave to kill Sir Walter if, and only _if_ , he betrayed us." Phila reached for the lance on her back, and leveled it at Gerald, surprisingly steady given her injuries. "Now, unless you've received a missive from the Exalt with different orders, I'm ordering you to stand down."

Gerald's gaze narrowed, and he shifted his weight so he was turned enough to react to either Walter or Phila. "You would risk a war for this murderer?" Gerald asked incredulously.

"You know, I don't know why you call him a murderer so much," another voice butted in. They all looked to see Robin leaning casually against the pole to one of the tents behind Phila. "If what Leinhart said is true, you're just as guilty of murder as he is."

"Leinhart chatters like an old crone," Gerald scoffed dismissively. Ellen, on the other hand, lowered her rapier, her face growing pale. Robin noticed this, and smirked.

"Really?" Robin asked smugly. "So I'm supposed to conclude you did not, in fact, raze several Orc villages to the ground when you invaded Hexter?"

Gerald's own face paled. "T-that was different," he stammered, caught off guard. "They had invaded Hironeiden, slaughtered our people-"

"So you had the right to kill them all?" Robin interrupted, sounding almost bored. "Even the women and children, who just wanted to live in peace?...I see. You know something, King Gerald? I don't approve of what Walter did. I can see the practical need for what happened, but I can't bring myself to agree with it. But Walter did what he thought he had to do, for the greater good, and he hasn't tried to pretty it up any more than that. I know for a fact that he has nightmares, he's woken up screaming several times. He feels the guilt of what he did." Walter felt his face go a bit red; he didn't realize that others had noticed his nightmares. "But you? You've only been traveling with us for a few days at most, but not once in that time have you looked or acted guilty. You don't scream in your sleep. All you do is complain about and to Walter." He shook his head. "I'm just going to guess here, but you didn't care about politics or war when you razed those villages, did you? No, you were just angry. The only thing I've seen from you so far in any amount is anger. You were mad, and took it out on Orc civilians. Didn't he, Queen Ellen?" he said, turning to the Half-Elf. She lowered her head in shame, before nodding grimly. "That's what I figured. And I'm going to _guess_ that this was shortly after your adoptive father, Hugh, was killed." He looked to Ellen, and received another confirmation. He turned back to Gerald, who at this point was looking down to the ground, gritting his teeth. "To be frank, Your Highness, out of the two of you," he said, gesturing between Walter and Gerald, "I would pick Walter. At least he has the honor and decency to own up to his mistakes, instead of making excuses for them. At least he isn't so out of control that he slaughters entire villages for the sake of sheer rage." With that, Robin turned around and strode away, in no particular direction.

There was tense silence for a few seconds, before Gerald growled and sheathed his sword. Ellen followed suit, and shortly after Walter and Phila. "Whatever," Gerald snapped. "Like some boy who's still wet behind the ears can lecture me about what war is like." With that, he turned around, storming away in the opposite direction.

"Why did he attack you?" Ellen asked Walter, watching her husband tear his way back through the camp with a worried expression on her face.

"Because _someone_ decided to go crying to their husband when they couldn't take what they were giving to others," Walter accused.

Ellen looked confused for a second, before groaning. "I told the moron that nothing was wrong…oh, nevermind," she sighed. "Robin was right," she admitted, surprising Walter. "Neither of us really have room to talk, I suppose. Don't mistake this as forgiveness or acceptance of what you did, but... I'm sorry. He was out of line. We were both out of line." With that, she walked away, following after her husband.

Walter turned to Phila as he sheathed his mace. "Thank you, Captain Phila," Walter told her. "Your intervention was timely."

Phila was scowling in the direction of the retreating Hironeiden royalty. She shook her head, before turning back to Walter. "I'm not overly fond of those two," she replied tersely. "When they first sought audience with the Exalt, King Gerald was incredibly disrespectful and presumptuous. He even threatened war if the Exalt didn't surrender you to his custody, going as far as to draw his sword against her. Only the Exalt's patience kept the meeting from deteriorating into a slaughter. The man is a rabid dog, and the only one keeping him on his leash is his wife."

Walter snorted in amusement. "A fair enough assessment," he agreed. "Again, thank you."

"Think nothing of it," Phila responded. "While your…crimes in your homeland are appalling, you have done nothing but good for Ylisse. Anyone can see that you're trying to do the right thing here. The halidom owes you a debt of gratitude for all you've done for us; the least I can do is keep a mad king from gutting you over petty insults." With that, she gave him a small smile and walked away herself.

Walter smiled himself as she walked away. He'd originally taken Phila as a severe woman, and wasn't entirely sure that that judgment was inaccurate, but it was…pleasant to see that she was capable of being friendly. _Well, that's at least two friends I've earned here,_ Walter thought pleasantly to himself as he grabbed his shield from the cart, moving out of the way of the last few stragglers who were packing their belongings into the cart.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

 **The Road to Plegia**

Chrom had been less than pleased to hear of the altercation, and had grilled Walter for the full story as they marched. They were nearing Themis now, it being the late afternoon, and Walter had just finished recounting the incident, and everything that led up to it.

"King Gerald is an unacceptable risk to the mission," Frederick stated bluntly. "His anger is beyond his control. If petty insults are enough to drive the man to murder, it is only a matter of time before he breaks. That could be in the middle of a battle. Perhaps even the rescue of the Exalt herself. I might be so bold, milord, I advise that you send him on his way."

Chrom hummed in contemplation, before shaking his head from atop his horse. "No," he answered. "The reason we made this arrangement is so Gerald doesn't follow behind us, waiting for a chance to kill Walter. It's best to have him where we can see him, even if we can't trust him."

Frederick frowned worriedly, but nodded at the logic. "As you wish, milord," he acquiesced.

Walter remained silent. In truth, he was torn. He knew Gerald's logical reasons for his anger were justified, but Walter was suspicious of how much of that anger was logical, and how much was just the man's seemingly endless reservoir of rage. He also was pleased to learn that the holier-than-thou King of Hironeiden was as guilty as he was of murdering civilians, but…they were just Orcs that he had murdered. To Walter, it was no different than slaughtering any other kind of hog, and he wasn't petty enough to use the incidents against Gerald simply because he knew it bothered the man, not when the "victims" were naught but soulless animals. In truth, what bothered Walter more is that Gerald hadn't finished the job after Encablossa had been imprisoned again. With the continent in disarray, they could have vanquished the Dark Legion for good, but the apostate coward hadn't done so.

He kept that thought to himself, however. He doubted any of his Ylissean comrades would see it that way, given that they hadn't suffered for centuries at the hands of the subhumans of Bersia. The Shepherds had welcomed Panne openly, despite her species' reputation as bloodthirsty killers, and he didn't believe they would treat Orcs or other Lost races any differently without prior experience.

His musings were cut off as they crested a hill and beheld Themis. To Walter's relief, most of the duchy appeared intact. There were signs of recent battle, of course, what with the Plegian army having just crossed the area days ago. But there had been no apparent siege. The outer reaches of Themis had been damaged heavily by the Plegian soldiers as they passed, but the bulk of the city was spared.

The Shepherds turned toward the city, going to meet with Duke Themis. The Duke was going to be bringing most of his own men along, joining the Army as they passed the next day. They were simply going to stop by, and check on the progress of mustering the troops.

Within half an hour, the Shepherds found themselves striding across the front lawn of the Duke's estate. The doors to the mansion opened up before they reached them, and the Duke himself walked out to greet them.

"Prince Chrom!" He greeted boisterously with a wide grin, "it is an honor to welcome you to my humble home!" His grin widened upon seeing Walter. "And Sir Walter, old friend!" he cheered, walking up to Walter and gripping his arm in a friendly handshake. "It is good to see you again. The people of Themis, myself included, cannot stop singing your praises!"

Walter found himself flushing in embarrassment. "It was nothing, Duke Themis," he replied humbly as he returned the handshake.

"Modesty's all fine and good," Themis responded with a grin, "but your exploits deserve better! Like a feast! Come, weary Shepherds, allow my house to serve you! Maribelle, be a good host and direct our guests to the dining room, would you?"

The Shepherds let out a collective cheer and hustled into the house behind Maribelle, glad for a fine meal after a long march. Themis scowled and held out his arm, however, as the Hironeiden royalty tried to walk by. "Not you," Themis growled. "You can stay out here."

"Excuse me?" Gerald asked icily. Walter and Chrom came to a halt; this situation looked…problematic.

"I know full well that you have murder in mind for my friend, and I will have none of that in my house," Themis responded bluntly, all pretenses of formality and respect absent from his voice. "The man's a bloody hero in my eyes."

Gerald seethed. "Your 'hero' is a-"

"What?" Themis replied with a barking laugh. "He's a what? A murderer? I don't know if anyone bothered to educate you on Ylisse's history, but the Ylissean Army once committed unspeakable atrocities against Plegia on behalf of the previous Exalt," he said, shooting an apologetic look to the Prince, who nodded in resigned acceptance. "I have no small amount of blood on my own hands, and I refuse to believe a man of your age and apparent experience has no inkling of the reality of war and politics. We all bear the weight of our own sins, and even burn for them," he said somberly, before his bushy mustache turned downward in a grimace. "If you would condemn Walter as a murderer, then condemn me as well! And any Ylissean man who has seen more than thirty winters! In fact, if the company of 'murderers' so rankles you, feel free to vacate yourself from my city entirely; there's scarcely a street in the city that doesn't house a veteran of the last Plegian war."

"Duke Themis," Walter pleaded, his voice urgent. Gerald's face was turning a rather unhealthy shade of red. "Please, it is no trouble-"

"No trouble indeed," Themis snapped, ignoring Gerald's rising ire and Walter's pleading expression. "This ruffian is naught _but_ trouble! Storms into the Ylissean palace like he owns the place, demanding the death of one of the Prince's own men, slinging about all manner of slander, disrespecting the ruler of the halidom, only for the man in question to save my city! And this insufferable boor would _still_ have your head? No sir, this will simply not do. Begone from my city!" he finished loudly, pointing violently back toward the city gates.

Gerald opened his mouth to reply, his countenance twisted in rage, but Ellen swiftly slapped a hand over his mouth. "As you wish, Duke Themis," she said hurriedly. "Let's go, Gerald," she said more quietly to her husband.

Gerald tore her hand away from his mouth, looking at her in shock. "You're really going to just let him-!?"

"Yes, we are," Ellen interrupted with a voice that brooked no argument. "We're leaving. Now."

Gerald's face twisted up further in rage, before he let out a wordless snarl and whirled about, storming away from the estate with Ellen in tow.

"Are you sure that was wise, Duke Themis?" Walter asked worriedly. "There was an incident earlier today; the man's temper is already frayed. There may be…repercussions for this. He is a King, after all, and commands a sizeable army. I would gladly sacrifice myself before dragging Ylisse into a war on my behalf."

"I do not fear that man or his army," Themis responded flippantly. "And neither should you." He huffed, before smiling again. "But enough of such grim matters. Come, let us enjoy dinner, shall we? You must be famished after all of the marching you've done in the past few weeks. I don't look forward to the marching again myself, truth be told. I'm no spring chicken, that's for certain." Themis chortled as he turned about and walked back toward the house, the Prince and Walter just behind him. The two were quickly stripped of their armor with the help of Themis' servants, allowed to wash their hands, and ushered into the dining room.

As Themis brought them into the dining room and they sat down, Walter couldn't help but worry. When he'd met Gerald at the Holy Ground, the man had clearly been prone to anger. It seemed time not only failed to temper his rage, but stoked it further. He had no intentions of supplicating himself to the man, but neither did he seek to draw the man's ire. Ellen would not always be around to keep him in line, and he feared the ramifications another violent incident would entail. Not just for his own health, but the relations between Ylisse and Bersia. He was unsure how or even if Gerald could get the Hironeiden Army to Ylisse, but if he could…

Pushing aside those thoughts, he forced himself to try to enjoy the feast. The food was of fine quality, Walter had to admit. There was a perfectly cooked and seasoned roast that practically melted in his mouth, some of the finest wine he'd imbibed in his life, perfectly baked confections, the freshest vegetables Themis had to offer; the Duke had clearly pulled out all the stops. He found himself seated between Chrom and Robin, with Virion across the table from him. He quickly found himself drawn into a discussion with Robin about tactics. Now that he thought back on it, he realized that most of his idle conversations with Robin revolved around the man's work; he marveled at the man's dedication to his craft. Virion butted in occasionally, mostly taunting Robin with his inability to reliably beat the man, which almost resulted in them breaking out the board for another round right there. While those two were involved in their friendly squabble, Chrom pulled Walter into a discussion with Duke Themis about the customs and traditions of Ylisse; a conversation that he was appreciative of. If he was to remain here for the rest of his life, it would do him well to know the culture. After a while, Walter found that he didn't have to force himself to enjoy the meal.

As the afternoon turned to night, the feast ended, and Duke Themis had servants escort them all to the guest wing. Walter was flattered to receive one of the rooms reserved for honored guests, and his protests were simply laughed off by Duke Themis. His belongings had already been brought in, and his armor sat neatly on a spare mannequin.

As Walter finished his prayers and settled into the impossibly soft bed, he forced down his resurgent worries about Gerald. He could not stop the man from losing his temper, and resolved to burn that bridge when they came to it. For now, he would simply rest; they had a long campaign ahead of them, and he would savor the feeling of a soft bed for as long as he could.

000

"What do you mean, they left?" Chrom asked as they exited Themis the next morning.

"Just what I said, Blue," Gaius replied with a shrug. "I decided to go camping with them, due to…extenuating circumstances, and they told me they were leaving after a while."

"Did they say where they were going?" Chrom asked worriedly. Walter was worried himself; were they planning something?

"Yeah, actually," Gaius replied. "They said they were going to try to find some guy named Regnier, or that woman who was with us when we stopped the assassins at the Palace. Didn't say why, mind you, but they left last night."

"They might be trying to enlist either of them to kill me," Walter replied worriedly. He wasn't worried for his own life…not unless Regnier was involved, at any rate. No, he was worried that any of the other Shepherds would be wounded or killed trying to stop them.

"I doubt that, Chuckles," Gaius countered. "They seemed just about done with you. Sunny there said 'they'll regret trusting him' and stormed off with Legs in tow." Walter frowned in confusion and concern. Gerald had seemed quite adamant about delivering 'justice', and he didn't seem the type to give up so easily.

Chrom was of a like mind. "We'll have to keep our guard up and hope they really are sick of you," Chrom stated. "But this doesn't change anything important. We march to Plegia as planned."

"Yay, more marching!" Gaius cheered flatly, before slinking away, muttering something about not getting paid enough.

"He is a strange one," Frederick remarked with a raised eyebrow. "Though someone should drill some proper respect into his skull. 'Blue' indeed," he scoffed. "Disrespectful lout."

"It's better than 'Chuckles' in my opinion," Robin sniggered, much to Walter's chagrin.

"Or 'Bubbles', eh Robin?" Chrom fired back, hitting him with his elbow.

"Where did he get that anyway?" Robin wondered in exasperation as the others laughed at his expense. They all formed up at the head of the column, and started back on their march to Plegia. Even now, Walter could see the mountains marking the Plegian border; they would be upon them by midday.

The march went by rather uneventfully as they made their way toward the same pass they had left not even two weeks ago. Walter smiled as they passed the area where they'd rescued Maribelle; the pass was still completely blocked off by the rockslide they'd caused. Of course, this forced them to find a detour, and would hinder their army, but it was far more an inconvenience to Plegia; it was easier to sneak a small band of soldiers through the lesser paths than an entire army, and the mountain range was simply too large for the an army to watch… the Ylissean Army had learned that lesson the hard way when the Plegians attacked.

Eventually he found himself drifting toward the back of the column, for no particular reason. Maribelle passed him by, mounted on her mare, and coughed to get his attention.

"Can I help you, Lady Maribelle?" Walter asked.

"Not quite, but you can help yourself," Maribelle said warningly. "That thief, Gaius, is known to me. It is unwise to trust him."

Walter furrowed his brow in confusion. The two knew each other? "What makes you say that, milady? I know he is a thief, but what has he done to earn such extraordinary suspicion?"

"The villain framed my father for a crime he did not commit, to save his own hide," Maribelle spat. "He broke into the Royal Treasury on someone else's orders, and when caught, framed my father instead. As if we want for wealth! As if we need to steal from the Exalted Line that our family has served for a thousand years!" she harrumphed. "The man is scum, and you would do well to avoid him. I tried to convince Prince Chrom to be rid of him, but he would hear nothing of it!"

Walter frowned. If Gaius had broken into the palace, Chrom must already have known of him. Was that why he had chosen to spare the man that night? But why? This made no sense! His past with House Themis certainly explained his reference to "extenuating circumstances" before. But why would Chrom keep such a security risk around? What had the thief done to earn such mercy for breaking into the Palace not once, but twice? "I see," he said aloud. "I will keep that in mind."

"See that you do, for your own sake," Maribelle responded. "I do not wish you to be harmed by that cutthroat." With that, she spurred her horse forward again, moving up to where Lissa and Ricken were chatting amiably.

Walter's frown was still in place, though. This situation didn't sit quite right with him; Gaius was a thief, certainly, but was clearly anything but malicious in nature. He needed more information… but he would worry about that later, he supposed. Perhaps he would ask Chrom about the matter when they made camp that night.

The Shepherds turned onto one of the mountain paths the scouts had located a few days prior; now began the true march into Plegia. They were forced to walk single file on the path; Walter was wedged between Miriel and Donnel, behind and ahead of him, respectively. Walter noticed that the young farmhand was looking rather fidgety in his leather hauberk, anxiously readjusting the brass pot he insisted on wearing as a helmet.

"You look worried, Donnel," Walter said aloud. As he'd half-predicted, the boy jumped at his words, before turning around sheepishly.

"Yeah,I reckon I am," Donnel admitted shakily. "Fighting bandits or them Risen critters y'all were talkin' 'bout is one thing, but goin' ta war is a whole 'nother idea, ya know what I mean?"

"I understand perfectly," Walter responded knowingly. He'd had similar reservations about his first time going into battle. He hadn't even had the experience of fighting bandits that Donnel had. Bandits knew better than to raid and pillage in Ecclesia; it had only taken a couple dozen disembowelments and crucifixions to get the message across.

"How'd you deal with it?" Donnel asked tentatively. "I mean, I just can't wrap my head around the whole darn idea. Thousands of people just killin' each other, and I'm fixin' to be right in the middle of it all? I can barely get it, and what little I do get terrifies me somethin' fierce."

Walter placed his hand comfortingly on Donnel's shoulder. "When I first marched to battle, I kept my thoughts on Ecclesia, and the Lord. I was called by the Lord to defend His Empire, as were all of my brothers in arms, and there is no greater honor or burden than that. All of the people of Ecclesia were depending on us to keep them safe, both from the physical threat of the Dark Legion to the spiritual threat of the Lost Races who would turn them from the Lord's light. I must admit, however, there were times when I couldn't bring myself to care for the faceless masses, or the politics behind the wars. In those times, I thought of my wife and child. However just or unjust a war might have been, their lives were at stake. So think of your mother, and your village, Donnel. The threat of Plegia looms over them, even now. Gangrel would see them all put to the sword." He felt Donnel tense up under his armor; it was undoubtedly a miserable thought. "The Ylissean Army, and you, is all that stands between them. Fight for your mother Donnel, treat every battle as if it were at the gates of your village. But most importantly, do not give up your life freely."

"I ain't no kid no more, Sir Walter," Donnel responded bluntly. "I know darn well there's a good chance I ain't makin' it home."

"Of course," Walter replied evenly. "Many men will not return home after this. But you must make sure your life is not given or wasted, but spent most dearly. Do not surrender; do not give in to despair or pain or fatigue. Fight until your dying breath, defiant to the last. Protecting your mother does little good if she must give her thanks to a headstone. I do not wish to return you to your village under anyone's power but your own."

"…I see," Donnel answered at length. "I'll keep that in mind, Sir Walter. Thanks…" He turned to give Walter a strained smile, before turning back forward. Walter was satisfied, though, as he watched the boy's fidgeting subside, and his shoulders square determinedly. If there's anything Walter had figured out about the boy, it was that he cared deeply for his mother and village, and had gambled that reminding him of why he was here would strengthen his resolve.

Walter's thoughts turned to his own family as the march continued. He absently noted Captain Phila take off and fly ahead of the column; scouting patrols were starting now that they were crossing to Plegian soil. His own wife had died seven years ago, leaving a gaping hole in his heart that he was certain could never be filled again. He could not turn to thoughts of her for resolve, not the kind he would need to go to war. He had Thomas to fight for... but his son had also been missing for thirty years now. Walter knew logically that his son had likely gone to meet his mother at the gates of Heaven in some way or another, yet some part of him refused to believe it. No father dies before their own child… Nevertheless, he made himself a promise: he would fight for Thomas. Not to protect him, as alive or dead he would be beyond Walter's ability to protect. No, he would fight to match his son's expectations of him. His son had adored him, both as a soldier and as a father, despite his obligation to be the former harming his ability to be the latter. While Walter could no longer demonstrate the love he had so often refrained from showing his son, he would certainly live up to Thomas' view of him as a warrior of God. No longer would he resort to unjust means to reach just ends; Thomas would have been heartbroken to know of the things he'd done in his quest to destroy the Ancient Heart. No, from here on out, he was going to be as true to the Lord's Word as he could possibly be.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

 **Grim Tidings**

"To the nine hells with all of this sand!" Sully roared in frustration as she slid once again on the surface of a dune, her horse stumbling to keep up with her slide. Several mutters of agreement rose up among some of the other more heavily armored Shepherds. "How in the hells do these Plegians even survive in this wasteland!?"

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Robin said lightly as he shifted his weight slightly to avoid sliding himself. "I could do without this heat, though."

"I don't know how you're wearing that heavy cloak," Lissa gasped as she stumbled along at the head of the column with Robin, Frederick, Chrom, and Walter. "My dress isn't anywhere near that dark, or that heavy, and I'm still baking!"

"Perhaps Robin is of Plegian descent," Frederick supplied neutrally. "It would explain why he wears Grimleal robes."

Robin looked troubled at that. "Maybe you're right," he said worriedly. "Could you give it a rest about my coat though? I'm rather fond of it. If I was 'Grimleal', I don't remember it, so it's just a coat to me."

"I have no personal issues with your wardrobe," Frederick rebutted as Robin ground to a halt, looking distracted. "I am simply pointing out that you wear the robes of a religion directly opposed to that which is most common in Ylisse. Perhaps if you would simply get rid of it-"

"NO!" Robin roared, startling everyone within earshot. He apparently even startled himself, before taking on a look of intense concentration. Those near him shot him wary looks, worried that the heat had driven him mad, but Robin's look quickly turned to one of frustration. "Dammit!" he cried. "I almost had it!"

"Almost had what?" Chrom asked hesitantly.

"Every time I talk about this coat with someone, I see…" he stopped a bit, before shaking his head. "I can see a face. A woman's, I'm pretty sure, but I'm not certain. It's like looking at someone through thick, misted glass. It must be someone I knew before I lost my memory. Maybe this coat was a gift from her, or maybe it _was_ hers. I think she was important to me; I feel…something, but I can't really place it. It was something good, not anger or hatred, more akin to friendship, or…something else. I almost had a clear picture this time, but…" he let out a wordless cry of frustration. "Forget about it," he said after a moment of dejected silence. "Let's keep marching." Without waiting for the others, he began trudging on ahead, navigating the shifting sands of Plegia almost effortlessly. The others struggled to keep up.

A week ago they had come down from the mountains and entered Plegia proper, deftly evading the largest Plegian army stations and eliminating the smaller ones, constantly leaving dead drops for the Army scouts between them and the main Plegian Army. Walter was discomforted to find that the region was almost as sandy as southeast Hexter. He had little trouble navigating the sand; months of constant warfare in the harsh deserts of Hexter had conditioned him to move efficiently, even wearing his heavy armor. He had even dismounted his horse a while back, giving the poor beast a break. It was nothing he hadn't walked before, after all. No, it was the heat that bothered him the most. With no plant life or water sources to provide something to cool the earth, be it shade or humidity, it became blisteringly hot during the day. With nothing on the earth to retain the heat at night, it could turn to near-freezing temperatures. Walter despised and was disgusted by the Orcs of Hexter, make no mistake, but he carried a grudging respect for them being able to survive and even thrive in this kind of environment. While the Plegian desert was not quite as harsh as Hexter's, he was developing that same respect for the citizens of Plegia.

"There should be an oasis ahead," Chrom said, breaking the tense silence. "Robin, dispatch a scout to scan the oasis. If there are Plegians there, we need to know how many. If we can take the place ourselves, then we will. It will allow us another camp for the Army to use tomorrow. If not, then we can direct the Army to or away from it, depending on what you decide would be best."

Robin nodded absently, before calling for Captain Phila, on scout duty for this portion of the day. Sumia would scout during the morning, Phila in the afternoon, and Cordelia would keep aerial watch on their camp at night. Walter noted worriedly that Phila was breathing rather raggedly atop her pegasus.

"Hold, Robin," Walter said aloud as he walked over to them. The two looked at him curiously as the other Shepherds began coming to a halt, talking amongst themselves. "Captain Phila, when was the last time your injuries were checked?" he asked her pointedly.

Phila was not amused. "I am fine, Sir Walter, but thank you for your concern," she said in a manner that made it clear that she was certainly not grateful for the concern.

"Truly?" Walter asked in a deadpan tone, before jabbing his finger into Phila's chest, where he knew she had taken an arrow. He didn't jab her hard; just hard enough to make the contact known through her armor. Her reaction was telling, however; she cried out in pain and jumped back involuntarily. "It would appear that you are not being truthful," he said smugly.

Captain Phila's face turned dark as she regained her composure. "I. Am. Fine." She insisted through gritted teeth.

"No, you're not," Robin said this time. "If a simple jab is enough to do that, then you're not fit to be scouting a potential enemy position. Keeping an eye on the road is one thing, but there are almost certainly going to be enemy soldiers at this oasis and if they see you…no. I'll have Cordelia take her shift early. Walter, see to her wounds."

"I am not some invalid!" Phila roared, throwing them both a look of purest loathing. "I have taken much worse wounds than this before and fought for days on end! This is ridiculous"

"The strongest of soldiers can succumb to the shallowest of cuts if it becomes infected," Walter rebutted. "You are the one who is being ridiculous. Remove your breastplate and tunic so I can check your injuries."

Phila flushed heavily. "I beg your pardon!?" She practically screeched, drawing looks from several of the other Shepherds. Robin backed away as her face turned a very deep shade of red, both from rage and embarassment. "I have undressed for no man before, and I will not start now! Especially not for mere flesh wounds!"

Walter simply scoffed and ignored the onlookers. "Who do you think it was that mended the worst of your injuries at the castle?" he asked rhetorically. Phila's glare changed to one of dumbfounded confusion. "Most of the clerics were tied up in tending to the other wounded, and few of those remaining were capable of removing those arrows without killing you. To put it more simply, _I_ am the one who treated you," Walter concluded, "so there is nothing under there that I have not seen before. Now, please, remove your armor."

Before Phila could put voice to the many unpleasant thoughts that were clearly flitting through her mind, Lissa stepped forward. "Now now, there's another solution!" she piped up, causing the three to look at her. "I'll check her injuries. I am a trained cleric, remember?"

"That's acceptable," Walter answered. Phila shot him a glare that told him perfectly how much she cared for what he found acceptable or not. "If the injuries are beyond your skill, do not hesitate to ask for aid." With that, he walked away, to find Cordelia. Robin quickly caught up to him as Lissa led Phila toward the back of the column for what minimal privacy one could expect in the middle of a desert.

"She was rather…vehement about that," Robin muttered nervously. "I wonder what for? Is her modesty really that much of a concern for her?"

"She is acting like that because she is currently in debilitating pain," Walter answered bluntly. Robin shot him a questioning glance, and Walter chuckled. "I have been a healer for well ten years, Robin. I have seen my share of injured men, and far beyond my share of wounded soldiers who overexert themselves. One of her wounds is likely infected; perhaps one of her previously broken ribs has broken again from the strain of flying. The heat of the desert is certainly doing her no favors. I expect Lissa to call for me right about-"

"Walter!" came Lissa's worried cry from behind the supply wagon.

"Now," Walter finished succinctly. Robin couldn't help but laugh. "I will leave you to find Cordelia." With that, he left the young tactician to go to Lissa and Phila.

He restrained the smug grin that threatened to surface on his face as he rounded the wagon. Phila stood bare chested but for her left arm preserving her modesty, shooting a hateful glare at Walter that dared him to say or do anything she wouldn't like. Lissa stood behind her, glancing disconcertingly at the woman's back.

"Move your arms," he commanded in a neutral tone as he neared them.

"What?" Phila asked icily, so quickly and sharply that it sounded more like a whip crack than anything.

"Move your arms," Walter repeated, again neutrally. Phila threw him a glare that suggested she would gut him first. "I was the one that pulled the arrow from your chest, Captain Phila. I cared little for your feminine attributes at the time, and I assure you I still do not. Had the arrow I pulled been a half inch to the right, it would have pierced your heart. Had it been less than that to the left, it would have pierced your lung. It is by the Lord's mercy, and no small amount of my own skill, that you continue to breath. I know for a fact that I was unable to heal that wound fully at the time. I need to check that wound."

"I will do no such-"

"Phila, please," Lissa pleaded. "That wound is awful looking; I've never seen something that bad. I don't know where to start." Walter frowned in concern; Lissa was certainly a novice, but not fresh out of the Academy either; he doubted basic cleric training in Bersia differed wildly from Ylisse, and they were taught to treat infected tissue at the Academy. How bad was this wound?

Phila looked at Lissa, glanced worriedly and hatefully at Walter, before sighing. "Fine," she relented. As Walter began to move forward, she moved her free arm upward. "On one condition. You will allow me to cover myself as best as possible before you look at it."

"Oh, for the love of God," Walter groaned, "very well. Your fixation with your modesty is both unnecessary and irritating," he growled as he reached over to grab some bandages from the cart. He tossed them brusquely to Lissa, before walking back around the side of the cart. There he found Maribelle standing, toting a staff that Walter recognized as a healing staff.

"You are a cleric?" Walter asked in surprise.

"Yes," Maribelle responded haughtily. "While I certainly lack Lissa's skill, and most certainly your own, I am no apprentice either. I heard Captain Phila was injured, and I am ready to give aid."

"It is appreciated," Walter said, before lowering his voice. "Though I might prefer the aid of Sully for this endeavor," he finished grumpily. "Phila is being rather unreasonable about this."

To Walter's surprise, Maribelle's face turned rather pale. "Perhaps not so unreasonable as one might think," she responded softly. "Nevertheless, her wounds must be serious if Lissa so quickly requested aid, so I am sure that she will acquiesce."

"We're ready!" Lissa called. Walter nodded, and rounded back around the wagon with Maribelle in tow.

Phila and Lissa had bound Phila's chest in a manner that left the center of her chest exposed while preserving her modesty. The bandages went down across her breasts from her shoulders, under the arms, and back around, as to leave most of her back uncovered as well. Such concerns were immediately driven from Walter's mind upon seeing the wound on her chest. It should not have been anywhere near that bad; the tissue was not red, nor even purple, but a deep black color. The skin on her chest was dead, and it looked like the muscle beneath fared little better.

Walter let out a curse as he stormed forward. He removed his gauntlet and brushed the wound gently; Phila did not gasp or cry in pain. The flesh was truly dead. Walter frowned. He was no novice by any means, but he _certainly_ had left the wound in better shape than that.

"What in the Lord's name have you done to your wound?" Walter wondered aloud as he simply ripped a piece of the flesh off. Phila gasped, but in surprise, not pain. "This wound looks to have been festering for months, yet it was scarcely three weeks ago you received it." He dropped the piece of flesh to the sand, uncaring. It was far beyond salvaging anyway.

"That's not even the worst of it, Walter," Lissa said from behind Phila uncertainly. Walter raised an eyebrow and walked around his patient, and let out a gasp of horror at the state of the Captain's back. It looked as though she had been burned by wyvern fire; there was hardly more than an inch of healthy tissue in any location across the entirety of her back. The remainder of the flesh was either a deep, sickly purple, or outright blackened. Her entire back oozed pus and several other fluids, and smelled strongly of death.

"How in the Lord's name are you still standing?" Walter wondered aloud as he took in the sight of the necrotic flesh. "These wounds…I have seen grown men collapse under lesser wounds. I've seen many more dead from them in days."

"I am no invalid," Phila reiterated, though sounding more strained now; she was no longer trying to conceal her pain. "It will take more than a flesh wound to kill me."

Walter huffed, before digging his finger into the worst looking patch of flesh. Phila grunted a bit in discomfort at the sensation, but Walter knew she felt no pain; this flesh was long since dead. He casually ripped a strip of flesh nearly a finger's length and a half inch thick from her back, before tapping her shoulder. Lissa and Maribelle turned green at the display. "Hold out your hand," he ordered. She obliged, extending her hand palm- upward over her shoulder, and Walter set the diseased tissue into her hand. Phila pulled her hand back in front of her, and he heard her gasp in horror. "This is no mere flesh wound," Walter stated dully. "In truth, I doubt little of the flesh on your back is yet alive. How you manage to ride at all in this state is beyond me, but it stops today."

"You can't do that!" Phila cried halfheartedly, even as she gazed at the strip of her own skin and muscle had dropped in her hand. Walter could tell she was unnerved, though; she likely hadn't thought it to be that bad.

"I can, and I am," Walter stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "If you had managed to survive two more days with this level of infection, I would have been greatly surprised."

"Okay people," a voice said as a figure rounded the wagon. "We've got trouble up ahead, and-dear gods!" the person said. It was Robin, and he was staring at Phila's exposed chest in horror. "What in the nine hells happened to you!?" he screeched shrilly. At any other time, Walter would have found his ability to hit that octave amusing, but things were too dire to appreciate it now.

"Severe infection," Walter replied simply. "Her back is far worse. Whatever trouble is ahead, I am needed here. I would appreciate Lissa and Maribelle remaining as well. This will take much work to treat."

"Uhh…" Robin stated dumbly, still staring at Phila's chest. Phila was now blushing angrily. "Right then. I'll leave you to it. But we'll have no healers…oh bugger it," he said, before grabbing a spare healing staff out of the wagon. "I guess I'll be the cleric this time."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "You know healing magic?" He asked dubiously.

"Not at all, but it can't be much harder than regular magic, can it?" He said blithely. He shot another look at Phila's wound, and turned a light shade of green. The three healers looked at him with deadpan expressions. "Well then, I'm off. I'll leave Panne and Frederick behind to guard you guys. See you in a while." With that, he hurried off to join the rest of the Shepherds to deal with the aforementioned "trouble".

"Maribelle, would you please find me a knife," Walter said as he returned his attention to Phila and her grievous wounds.

"A knife?" Maribelle asked nervously.

"Yes, a knife," Walter answered grimly. "Most of this flesh is diseased or dead, and needs to be removed. If any were to be caught under the skin when it heals, it could renew the infection again. Lissa, do we have spirits in the wagon?" he asked as Maribelle hustled over to the wagon, searching for a spare knife.

"Uh, are you a shaman or something?" Lissa asked dumbly. "What do ghosts have to do with that? And why would we have them in the wagon?"

"Not undead spirits," Walter groaned in exasperation. "Rum, strong wine, anything of the sort? I will need something to disinfect the tissue once we remove the dead flesh."

"Oh!" Lissa said embarrassedly as she caught on. "No, we don't. We have plenty of vulnerary though!"

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Vulnerary?"

"Yeah, it's a salve we use," Lissa explained. "It disinfects and promotes healing. It's so common here, I didn't think you'd not know what it was. We haven't used spirits to clean wounds here in…well, centuries at least. Maybe even millennia."

"That will do," Walter replied. "You two will have to decide how much to apply and where; I am unfamiliar with the concoction." At that, Maribelle returned with the knife, and they began the grim task of removing the dead tissue. They began placing the tissue in an empty box from the cart for later disposal, so the creatures of the desert would not find it and track the convoy, in hopes of an easy meal.

For the first ten minutes or so, Phila could not feel anything and hardly reacted to the cuts, which worried Walter immensely. If this kept up, he was uncertain if she'd ever be able to fully heal; he had already hit the muscle layer, and she was still not responding. Muscle could be rebuilt through medicine and magic, but only if there was living muscle left to grow from. Eventually, when he estimated he was about halfway through the muscle layer, she let out a cry of pain as he ran the knife through another stroke. Walter was relieved;. With newfound hope, he began more carefully removing the flesh, cautiously discovering where living muscle was and gently removing the dead tissue as to not damage what precious little healthy muscle there was. It took over two hours, but Walter smiled as he finally scraped the last of the necrotic tissue away. His smile quickly dropped, however; the woman looked like she had been skinned alive.

"So…now what?" Lissa asked nervously. "We never covered this in my apprenticeship."

"Normally because any patient with this severe of an infection would be dead," Walter stated bluntly, drawing a concerned noise from Phila. "While she lives, however, there is yet hope. First, we must disinfect and repair the damaged muscle, and from there, the skin. This will not be done today, or even over several days, however; we may very well rescue the Exalt before she is fully healed."

"Unacceptable!" Phila shouted. "I won't sit idly by while my liege is in danger!"

"You will if I say you will!" Walter snapped. "You are beyond lucky that you are not dead right now, Captain Phila, and if my words are not enough to convince you…" He grabbed the box, nearly filled to bursting with her dead flesh, walked around to her front, and dropped it at her feet. "This might."

Phila turned deathly pale. "How much of my back was like that?" she asked quietly. "I felt so little pain from the cutting; I had thought it wasn't that bad."

"The short answer is: all of it," Walter responded, glaring at her. "Your entire back will scar, and likely your chest when we treat that. Some of your muscles may not heal properly; it is too early to tell. I've half a mind to send you back to Ylisstol, but if the clerics there are so inept that they allowed it to get this bad, I will not trust them to heal you further." He shook his head and ignored Lissa and Maribelles offended looks at Walter's mistrust of Ylissean medicine. "No, you will remain here, and I will endeavor to get you back to fighting condition before we reach Castle Plegia, but if I say you are not ready for battle, _you will not go into battle._ Are we clear?"

Phila glared at him defiantly for a moment, before deflating. "Very well," she ceded. "I will defer to your judgement."

"Good," Walter replied, before turning to the other two women. "Now, this whole fiasco has shattered my faith in Ylissean healing magic. As such, I will be training you both in Bersian holy magic. After twenty years and countless soldiers saved by it, I trust it fully."

Lissa looked intrigued, while Maribelle was torn between excitement and still being offended that Walter thought Ylissean medicine was so wortheless. Not waiting for a response, Walter walked back around to Phila's back, and began the first lesson.

It was not easy going, however: Ylissean healing magic differed wildly from Bersian holy magic. Ylissean healing magic worked by using the wielder's magical energy to promote the body's natural healing; very few wounds healed this way scarred, and of those that did, they were usually very clean scars. Infections were defeated by the patient's own magically boosted immune system. It took decades of mastery to treat the level of wounds Walter was looking at, however, and all Ylissean magic required the use of a staff to concentrate and direct the magic properly. Bersian holy magic, on the other hand, required an entirely different method. Instead of using the body's natural healing factor, the caster used magic to outright grow new tissue, and force tears in the muscle and skin to come together and bind, burnt infections out of the system, and forced organs into functioning properly again. It was a much more direct, confrontational, almost brutish way of healing, contingent upon the wielder's own knowledge of the body and skill at manipulating magic themselves. Staves were optional for Bersian clerics, and were normally only used to amplify the wielder's power instead of focusing it. Before Walter had them even attempt to heal Phila, he opened cuts on his own arms, ordering the other two to heal them. As they did that, he covered Phila's back in bandages; it would do little good for them to learn holy magic, only to have to fight another infection created by leaving the wounds open to the desert air. Walter faintly heard the sounds of battle, and even what sounded like a monstrous roar, as he worked on bandaging Phila. He winced in pain as Lissa lost control of the holy magic and the muscles in his arm spasmed; the girl was prone to distraction, he quickly noticed. Maribelle, on the other hand, was slower and less powerful, but concentrated far more easily. It took them well over an hour to heal a knife wound to his satisfaction, and he now bore several scars on his left arm from the more sloppy attempts, and a rather large chunk of flesh missing from where he had cut a large swath out of his arm to teach them how to grow tissue back, but he was finally satisfied that they were ready to treat Phila directly.

"This will be much more difficult," he told them as he gathered his own magic and began removing the temporary bandages, already slick with blood. "I will heal the majority of the wounds; focus your energies, like I showed you, into growing the skin and muscle and bridging the lighter gaps in the muscle. Remember, do not overexert yourself, and _do not lose focus_ ," he stressed, looking pointedly at Lissa, who grinned sheepishly. "We will not finish this tonight, there is far too much damage for that. But if we can get enough muscle regrown and skin to cover it, we can slowly treat the wounds over the next week or two." The two young clerics nodded, and they began their work.

Walter frowned in concentration as they set to work, the blinding white glow of the holy magic pulsing over Phila's back. An unknowledgeable bystander might be disgusted at the sight of the muscle in Phila's back moving as if possessed; bunches of muscle leapt across gaps and fused together, skin and muscle grew and crawled toward other patches of tissue as if by their own accord. But Walter smiled internally; Phila's body didn't resist the magic, like some of the men he had treated before, and progress was going smoothly, if a bit slowly due to the two young clerics' inexperience.

After an indeterminable amount of time, and several breaks for water and rest, the healers ceased their work. Phila's back was nowhere near fully healed; there were clear divets and bumps beneath the raw red, warped skin where the muscle had yet to reattach or regrow, but Walter smiled tiredly nonetheless. The framework for the rest of the healing had been laid, and they could stop for the day. He leaned against the wagon as the two girls collapsed, gasping for air. Walter could hear Sully's victorious shouting now; the Shepherds had won whatever engagement they'd been entangled in, clearly, and with no apparent losses.

"I am proud of you both," Walter said tiredly to Lissa and Maribelle, but with a smile on his face. "Never have I seen such inexperienced clerics, let alone ones who learned the magic the same day, do such excellent work."

The two girls blushed a bit at the praise, giving their thanks between gasping breaths, before Walter lifted them to their feet. Phila had leaned against the wagon on one arm herself, breathing raggedly still, but far better than she had before the healing began.

"Just one wound left now, and it's much smaller. We need only heal the wound on her chest, then-"

"Hoy there, comrades!" an unfamiliar voice shouted jovially. The four of them whirled around to see a man striding up to them, grinning widely. He was a large, muscular man with red hair, wearing a green leather hauberk and pants, with a steel broadsword at his waist.

"Who are you?" Walter asked brusquely, stepping in front of the three women, putting his hand on his mace's handle to show the man that he wasn't fooling about. He looked to be a mercenary, and mercenaries _always_ had friends.

"Ho there, friend, Gregor mean no harm!" The man, Gregor apparently, said quickly, raising his hands defensively. "Good grievink, this day nothink but insults and punches to groin! I am mercenary Gregor, your Prince has hired me. Very high cost performance! Gregor is pleased to-" Gregor noticed the bag, and the nearly naked Phila, and changed his tack. "What is goink on here? Is de lovely lady injured? Am also trained in non-magic healink, can bind wounds with expert skill!"

"Thank you, but there is no need," Walter stated. "We have the situation well under control."

"Dis is good news den!" Gregor cheered, before looking at the box again, and frowning. "Say, what sort of injury did de lovely lady suffer? That is an awful lot of dead flesh to be simply sword wound, aye?"

"Several arrow wounds and a severe infection," Walter replied crossly. He didn't need some mercenary second guessing his work. "As I said, we have the situation under control.

"Truly?" Gregor asked skeptically. "Let me see," he said, gesturing toward Phila.

"I think not," Walter replied as Phila growled defensively. "Captain Phila wishes to preserve her modesty, and unless you can account for more than twenty years as a healer, we will wish you a good day."

"Oh, no, not de lady!"Gregor said defensively. "De box. De dead flesh. I wish to see it."

Walter raised an eyebrow; was the man mad? However, he saw little reason to deny him, and gestured Maribelle to bring him the box. Shooting him a glare that told him that she really doubted his judgment, she picked it up and brought it to the mercenary, setting it down by his feet, before hustling back to the relative safety of being behind Walter.

What Gregor did next nearly had Walter throw up, despite decades of seeing the worst war had to offer; he picked a small piece of the dead flesh out of the box, gave it a scrutinizing stare, sniffed it once, grimaced, then popped it into his mouth like a piece of candy.

He heard Maribelle retch behind him, and he didn't blame her; what kind of a madman was this mercenary!? Was Chrom daft, hiring him? Thankfully, the man seemed to come to his senses and spit the dead flesh out, cursing in some foreign tongue and spitting profusely.

"Ewwwwwwww," Lissa moaned behind Walter, and again he couldn't help but agree with that eloquent description.

"Dis very bad," Gregor muttered, before looking over Walter's shoulder to Phila, who was staring at the man in horror. "You, woman, you takink medicine?"

"What?" Phila asked, dumbfounded, before shaking her head. "Y-yes, an apothecary in Ylisstol gave me a tonic to prevent infection. I stopped taking it days ago, it obviously wasn't working. But are you mad?"

"Oh no, was working perfectly," Gregor muttered darkly, ignoring Phila's question. "Where is it?"

"It's right there in the cart," Phila responded, nonplussed. "It's in the bag next to the pegasus knight armor."

"Right, right," Gregor muttered, before rifling through the bag (much to Phila's vocal dislike) and pulling out two green vials, a dire look on his face. "Is dis it?"

"Yes, it is," Phila responded. "Now, what are-"

Gregor interrupted her by smashing the two vials against the side of the cart, shattering them and splattering their contents across the sand. He brushed his hands of the debris quickly, checking for cuts with surprising urgency.

"Was that necessary?" Walter asked condescendingly. "It may have been ineffectual, but there was really no reason to destroy it."

"Oh no, is _very_ effective," Gregor argued, his face grim. "Is not vulnerary or tonic, but is poison."

Walter felt the blood drain from his face. "What?" he asked quietly.

"Am familiar with dis poison," Gregor explained. "Is made from gland of Valmese swamp animal," he explained. "Very rare. Very expensive. Very toxic. Kills flesh and gland is full of bad germs, causes bleeding inside once enough is taken. Am surprised lovely lady not dead; poison is very quick, very effective. Death is very painful, but does not take long... Takes much poison to do this much, even when wounded, yes? Is lovely lady in pain? Inside?"

"N-no," Phila stuttered, aghast at the new information. "I was several days ago, but that's right after I stopped taking it. It faded within a day and I thought nothing of it."

"Very good den!" Gregor said, breaking out in a wide grin. "Is not too late for you den! Will survive, unless wounds break open. Is good Gregor stop by, no? Might have taken poison again after dis, have made things worse!"

Walter nodded in agreement; things definitely could have gotten worse. "You are quite right. I am sorry to have misjudged you."

"Hey, is water under bridge, no?" Gregor answered, grinning. "Am aware I have…roguish appearance, ay? Am glad to have helped new comrades! See? Gregor cost performance very high!" And with that, he walked away laughing jovially.

"What a…strange fellow," Maribelle spoke up after a few seconds of stunned silence. "Still, he did figure out that poison... though my stomach still roils at the way he discovered it. Nasty business, that," she muttered.

"But who would want to poison Captain Phila?" Lissa asked, stating the question on everybody's minds.

"I don't know," Phila answered after a brief period of silence. "But when I find out, I'm going to run them through with my lance," she growled furiously.

"Before any of that," Walter said, "let us treat that chest wound, and report this news to Prince Chrom."

The three then set about healing Phila's chest wound. It was nowhere as severe as her back, but was still worrisome in its own right because the wound led almost directly to several major organs. Nevertheless, they had the wound healed to stable condition within ten minutes. As Walter found the lid to the box of dead flesh and sealed it and the two clerics finished bandaging Phila's back and chest, he frowned in worry. Not only did someone have an axe to grind with Captain Phila, but they wanted her to _suffer_. Why else would they go through all of this trouble, when simply sticking a knife into her existing chest wound while she slept have done the job all the same? At this point, Walter wasn't just worried for Phila, but for all of the Shepherds: how many of them would Phila's assassin be willing to harm to get to her?


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

 **Blood and Sand**

"Hey, Walter! Wanna play a game?" Nowi asked Walter excitedly.

"For the eleventh time, NO!" Walter shouted in exasperation. The child was getting on his nerves quickly; Thomas had never been like this!

"Aww," Nowi groaned in disappointment. "Why not?"

"How old are you, Nowi?" Walter asked testily.

"I dunno… a thousand…something?" Nowi responded uncertainly, before breaking out in a huge grin. "But look, no wrinkles!" Walter groaned in irritation.

When Walter had been told that a child was joining them, he'd had concerns. Donnel was arguably too young himself, but somebody even younger!? Then he'd been told that this "child" was in fact a thousand year old dragon in human form. While that idea strained credulity, Walter had opted to believe it. And so, before meeting Nowi, he had expected her to be a child filled with centuries of wisdom. The idea was a little unnerving, but Walter had accepted that.

But no. She was a thousand year old who acted like a twelve year old. And her…spontaneous and…cheerful behavior was quickly grating on Walter's nerves.

"Begone, Nowi," Walter ordered from atop his horse. "I have no time for games, or stories, or jokes, or anything else."

"You're a big old grump," Nowi pouted, before running off. In search of a new victim to torture, Walter had no doubt.

"Yeah, you're a big old grump," Robin chided from his other side. Walter shot the tactician a glare of utmost loathing, and the man laughed raucously at his expense.

"I'm going to tend to Captain Phila," Walter grumbled, pulling his horse about, and away from Robin's continued laughter. At this point Chrom and even Frederick were laughing at his expense, and he swore he heard Lissa snorting as she tried to contain her own laughter.

Three days had passed since they had first tended Phila's wounds. While he was doing that, the Shepherds had run across a sect of Grimleal sorcerers at the oasis, trying to recapture Nowi and sell her into slavery. Gregor had apparently been under contract with them, but broken the contract when he discovered he was (inadvertently) aiding the slave trade. Walter had grown some respect for the man for that, strange as he was. The petty part of him, however, secretly wished that they had failed in rescuing Nowi; the child was a nuisance. Several of the more laid back Shepherds got a long with her, Vaike especially so, but the more serious members couldn't stomach her for more than a few minutes at a time. Walter, it seemed, had an especially low tolerance for her.

His horse pulled up along the supply wagon, and he looked inside. Captain Phila had been "gently persuaded" to ride along in the wagon as opposed to even riding her pegasus on the ground; Walter had insisted that her injuries should not be subjected to the strain of riding, and the wagon cover would keep her out of the sun. After several hours of arguing and a short, one-sided wrestling match between healer and patient when Walter had tried to physically place her in the wagon the morning after they'd first tended her wounds, she had begrudgingly "agreed" to ride the wagon.

Phila glared at Walter as he gazed neutrally into the wagon. "What?" She asked tersely.

"The only thing I bother you for," Walter replied, a slight tinge of amusement to his tone. "Armor and tunic off, please."

Walter felt himself crack a small smile as she began undoing the clasps on her armor (that he had insisted she didn't need to wear, she had insisted otherwise, and Walter had simply given up), cursing all the while. He turned in the saddle in a pretense of privacy as she removed her tunic and applied the breast covering Lissa had fashioned for her to wear during her healing sessions. Walter was mildly annoyed by the need for it; did she really think him so unprofessional, or such a lecher, that he would ogle her feminine assets under a pretense of medical care? It was an insult to his own oaths as a healer, much less common decency! Regardless, it was easier to simply go along with it. At Phila's signal, he dismounted and climbed into the wagon, his horse following faithfully behind.

Walter smiled in relief as he removed the bandages and inspected the wounds. It had only been two days, and there was still much work to be done, but her back looked much better. It was still angry red and scarred, but the red hue was greatly diminished from the initial treatment, and the scarring on the skin was disappearing. He knew Lissa had been applying Ylissean magic to do just that. With luck the scarring would only stay in a couple of the worst areas. He had been half-healing the major wounds into the range he knew the others could reliably heal themselves with Bersian magic, and letting them finish the rest. Not many of those spots remained now. Her chest had been fully healed after the first day; only a small, jagged scar remained of the wound.

"Your back looks much better," Walter told her as he began his work on one of the worse areas. "With luck, the scarring won't be as severe."

"I will wear them with pride," Phila said resolutely. "I sustained these injuries in service to the Exalt, and resisted the poison of an assassin as well. Not many could survive such injuries, yet I remain standing. Or sitting, as it were."

"I agree that you deserve to take pride in such things," Walter mused as he kept healing. "Though, I do hope you will not obtain any more scars like this."

"I would bear a thousand more of them for Lady Emmeryn," Phila responded instantly.

"You are quite loyal to her, aren't you?" Walter asked absently.

"It is my duty as her bodyguard," Phila answered evenly.

"It seems more than that," Walter ventured. "You seem fond, in almost a maternal fashion."

Phila sighed. "The Exalt lost her parents when she was nine years old, Walter," Phila told him gravely. "For most of her life, I'm the only woman the age of her mother that she's had regular contact with, and I never had children myself. I eventually came to care for her as my own…could we change the subject? I worry greatly for the Exalt and my shame at failing her burns brightly, and I wish not to dwell on it."

"I understand," Walter responded. "We will speak nothing further of it."

A few minutes passed in silence as Walter continued his work, before Phila spoke again. "Tell me of your homeland, Bersia was it?"

Walter raised an eyebrow, though Phila couldn't see it. "What do you wish to know?"

"Whatever you wish to speak of," Phila responded vaguely. "What of your family?"

Walter smiled sadly, before speaking. "I had a wife and child once, but no longer. My wife passed from illness seven years ago, and my son went missing…I guess it was thirty years ago now. Though to me, it would only be a month or so." Phila turned around and gave him a curious glance. "Thirty years have passed in Bersia in my absence, but I was at the Altar of Nowart scarcely a month ago."

"What is this Altar of Nowart?" Phila asked. "I've heard rumors regarding your arrival here, but do not put stock in hearsay."

Walter sighed, before imparting the short version of his story that he had told most already. He had burned down Greyhampton, retrieved the Heart, been forced to betray the Patriarch, and fled to Nowart, where he had destroyed the Ancient Heart and summoned Encablossa.

"This all took several months, of course," Walter said as he finished. "I left much of the detail out of it. Those memories are… less than pleasant."

"It seems everyone has things they don't wish to discuss, doesn't it?" Phila asked wryly. Walter grunted in agreement; no one went through war without some unpleasant souvenirs and scars, be it physical or mental. "I pity poor Cordelia, however. Her struggles are so recent, and she struggles to not dwell on them, yet still performs her job so admirably. I worry how long she can keep up this pace, however."

"Cordelia?" Walter asked. "What is wrong with her?"

"She bears the guilt of being the only survivor," Phila answered somberly. "And I know not how to help her. She and I both know I will not be around forever, and Sumia was never formally inducted into the Pegasus Knights before Prince Chrom recruited her for the Shepherds, so that leaves Cordelia with the burden of carrying on our traditions once I am gone."

"You've got at least thirty winters left," Walter argued, "at least if I've anything to say about it."

Phila chuckled. "While I can't argue against your skill with healing magic and the probability of it keeping me alive, thirty years is not a long time when you consider the survival of the Order of Pegasus Knights, especially when those thirty years are being numbered by an unknown assassin."

Walter scowled. "We will find this assassin, Phila," he said, laying his gauntleted hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "You've no need to fear." Chrom had been absolutely irate when he had been informed of the attempted poisoning; Phila was like a mother to Chrom as well. If it was not his own sister's life on the line, he may well have turned the Shepherds about to scour Ylisse for the apothecary who'd handed her the poison. Walter had considered going back himself; he did not like the idea of leaving the assassin be, and he was not unskilled at investigatory work, but Phila's current health remained the priority.

"I fear not for my own life, Walter," Phila clarified, "but for Cordelia's sake. If I'm assassinated, she will have no one to turn to. I know not much of her life, she has always been secretive about it, but she came to Ylisse nearly a year ago, seeking to join the Order. She seemed… lost, and so I reached out to her. She was guarded, at first, but eventually we grew close. She even told me once she viewed me as a second mother." Phila sighed. "I shudder to think how she would take it if I were to die, after losing all of her sisters."

"We will not have to worry about that for quite a while," Walter insisted. "And if such a thing comes to pass, I will watch out for her."

Phila turned and raised an eyebrow at him."You would do that?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes," Walter responded without hesitation. "I am sure I would have to earn her trust, of course, but I can still watch out for her health and welfare regardless."

"I…thank you," Phila said, her tone relieved. "I'm grateful for your consideration."

"Think nothing of it," Walter responded as he finished his healing work. His ears perked up as he heard wingbeats behind them. Fearing Plegian air cavalry had found them, he looked frantically out of the rear of the wagon. He was surprised to see Cordelia flying toward them, coming in fast and low, looking positively horrified. Walter frowned in concern; the Pegasus Knight was practically unflappable in every other scenario Walter had seen her in; what could have her so upset?

"Cordelia?" Walter called as she came within earshot. "What is wrong?"

"Where is Prince Chrom?" She stated frantically. "I have dire news that I must deliver!"

"At the head of the column, as usual," Walter answered. "But why…" Cordelia was already gone, bolting over the rest of the column.

"That was… disconcerting," Phila said worriedly.

"I'm going to see what the problem is," Walter told her. "Perhaps now would be a time for you to wear your armor. If we come under attack, you will need it."

"Agreed," Phila responded as she began buttoning up her tunic again. Walter leapt out of the wagon, quickly mounting his horse and galloping to the head of the column.

He wasn't even there before he heard Chrom shout "He WHAT!?" Walter doubled his pace, and within seconds was at the head of the column.

"General Thorne burned the oasis to the ground," Cordelia said, obviously repeating herself. "There were no survivors."

Walter gaped in shock. He remembered Thorne wanting to destroy that particular oasis, one they had stopped at the previous day, because it was a vital resupply area for the Plegian army to move north to south in this region. He thought he had convinced the man to leave it be…but he was terribly, horribly wrong about that, apparently.

"Gods," Robin gasped in horror. "Nobody survived?"

"No," Cordelia confirmed. "I was delivering our report on troop movements, but when I arrived, they were…they were just executing the last of the villagers, dumping their bodies in the pool, and destroying the well. The oasis is as good as gone, now. At least until someone repairs the well, but in the middle of a war…"

"That's horrible!" Lissa cried. "No, that's beyond horrible! That's…that's… I don't even know a word to describe how awful that is!"

"I told him not to target civilians!" Chrom roared in rage. "I specifically told him to not target non-combatants, and he did it anyway! That is IT! Once I get ahold of him, I'm going to-"

"Milord, please calm down," Frederick pleaded. "Don't do anything rash."

"Rash? _Rash_!?" Chrom yelled, causing Frederick to wince. "The man just murdered dozens of people, for no good reason! We can't just let him get away with it!"

"We have no choice for now, Prince Chrom," Walter spoke up. Chrom leveled a glare at him that could have vaporized the peak of Mount Levantz, but he held the Prince's gaze. "Turning around to arrest him and reorganize the army under new leadership would irreparably damage our timetable, and we won't get to the Exalt before she's executed." Chrom winced at that. "However, there is something we _can_ do."

"I'm listening," Chrom replied.

"We could warn the Plegian citizens of the Army's arrival," Walter stated. "While it would blow our cover as a 'mercenary band', it would allow the civilians time to flee from the path of General Thorne."

"And risk the Plegian Army becoming aware of our movements?" Frederick argued incredulously. "We can't afford to be attacked by the Plegian army, not with less than twenty men. We have no choice but to allow General Thorne to continue unmolested, as much as the thought turns my stomach."

"No, Frederick," Chrom stated resolutely. "I would rather cut my way through the entire Plegian Army than allow Thorne to kill every Plegian between here and Castle Plegia. We'll do as Walter suggested."

"As you command, milord," Frederick responded in a tone that showed his displeasure.

"He won't get away with this," Chrom growled. "Even Emmeryn won't allow the man to go free after this. Once we get her back, the bastard's going straight to the headsman's axe, I swear it on the blood of those villagers. And I'll be swinging it myself!"

Walter frowned as he swung his horse around and trotted to the back of the column to inform Phila of the events. The young man had never been prone to anger before; the capture of his sister and the strain of the war were clearly taking a toll on the young man. Walter hoped that he wouldn't stay like this once the war was over; nobody his age needed to be that bitter and angry, lest they end up like Gerald.

Walter arrived at the wagon, and imparted unto Phila all he'd learned. Her own expression turned sour. "Damn that bastard," Phila growled. "I always knew he was harsh, but this level of brutality?"

"What do you know of him?" Walter asked. "I worked with him shortly on the plans to deploy the Army, and he seemed possessed of a lust for Plegian blood, but it never appeared to be irrational like this; there was always a military reason for his proposed attacks. What can you tell me of him?"

"Much," Phila responded. "During the latter half of the war I served with him, and dealt with him for fifteen years after the war as Lady Emmeryn's bodyguard while she was in Council meetings. Exalt Bertrand, Chrom's father, deployed the man to the hardest fronts of the First Plegian War; he was a man known for getting results, which is what earned him the title of Grand General. He was severe but fair before those experiences, but afterwards he became harsh and cold." Phila sighed and shook her head. "He's been arguing for a second war with Plegia for years now, since the very first Plegian bandit raid. Duke Themis has likened him to a leashed, rabid wolf, and it's not unfitting…but he never just slaughtered a village for the sake of it. It's not unbelievable… but nor do I want to believe it. We were…close, once," she said, blushing slightly. "He intended to court me, but…well, that didn't work out. He eventually married a different woman, and has a child two years younger than the Prince. But he is a different man now than he once was. Harsh. Cruel. Cold. But, in his own fashion, wants what's best for Ylisse. We have a saying here in Ylisse; 'when all one has is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.' I believe this phrase was made specifically for Roark."

Walter nodded in acceptance. It seemed a fair assessment of the man. He'd proposed leveling several villages, sure, but there was always a practical reason for it. From what Walter could tell, at this point he was a wild card at best, and a war crime waiting to happen at worst. He would resolve to keep an eye on the situation.

"Sir Walter," Cordelia's voice came floating from ahead of him. He looked up to see Cordelia approaching casually atop her pegasus from the front end of the caravan. "Milord Chrom wishes to speak with you after dinner tonight."

Walter raised an eyebrow. This was… unexpected. "Did he specify what he wished to speak about?"

"No," Cordelia responded evenly, "but he emphasized its importance. It sounded more an order than a request, truth be told, and I would not ignore it…not with the mood Prince Chrom is in." With that, she turned about and flew away.

Walter frowned as she flew away. The timing of this was certainly strange, and certainly not a coincidence. Suddenly, Walter found himself hoping they would march through the night and not make camp.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

 **Righteous Treason**

"Tell me about what happened north of Jungsburg," Chrom stated without preamble as Walter sat down in the command tent.

Walter shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Are you sure you wish to hear this, Prince Chrom?" Walter warned. "It is not a pleasant tale, and if I must be honest, it is a painful memory to revisit. At few times in my life has my faith been tested harder than it was that day."

"Yes," Chrom stated."I have an idea of what to do about General Thorne, but I need to hear this story first."

Walter frowned deeply; he really did not like the implication Chrom was making. He took a deep breath however, and began speaking. "We had just retrieved the Ancient Heart from the Altar of Destruction, and were retreating with all haste back through Hironeiden territory…"

 **Woodenshade, Hironeiden, half a day south of Jungsburg, independent city-state buffering Hironeiden and Ecclesia**

 **Ten days before the Battle of Nowart**

"Walter, we shall stay at Jungsburg briefly," Patriarch Dimitri stated suddenly, nearly out of the blue.

Walter started at the abrupt statement, and looked up to the Patriarch. He had always looked old to Walter, being well old enough to be Walter's own father, but lately he looked…older. Not just physically, but mentally; the man appeared to have aged another twenty years in the past two weeks, and was clearly exhausted.

"Your Holiness?" Walter asked, seeking clarification.

"I am…tired," the Patriarch responded. "I require rest, more than a hard cot in a tent can provide. We shall stay at Jungsburg, before returning to the capital."

Walter frowned. The Altar of Nowart was almost directly north of Jungsburg, so stopping there made some sense, but Eccelsia was farther to the northwest. "To Ecclesia, Your Holiness?"

"Yes," the Patriarch replied tiredly, "I wish for our scholars to study the Ancient Heart…" he raised an eyebrow at Walter's concerned frown, "…before destroying it. As the Lord wills."

Walter's frown only increased. The Patriarch must be truly exhausted to even think of altering course. "Your Holiness, we cannot afford the delay," Walter argued as humbly as he could manage. "The Dark Legion is mere days behind us, and our scouts report Regnier himself leads the charge to recover it…and that he is so far infuriated that his own soldiers drop from the brutality of his pace. We may well become besieged in Ecclesia if we return there."

"We must have a proper knowledge of this foul creation before destroying it," the Patriarch countered. "As for the Dark Legion, I have no fear of them. Sir Kendal will drive them away. As it is, I am far too exhausted to continue further. I must rest."

Walter believed the last part of that statement, anyway. The Patriarch looked ragged. The brave soul had personally taken possession of the Ancient Heart for safekeeping; even now, it lay in a satchel at his side.

"Your Holiness," Walter began cautiously, "the Ancient Heart is clearly a heavy burden. I would gladly bear it for a short while if it would allow you to-"

"Take it away from me!?" the Patriarch screeched, startling several of his own guards as well as Walter. The entire procession ground to a halt. "I will not allow it!"

"Y-Your Holiness…" Walter gasped in shock. The Patriarch had not exploded in anger for all of the years he'd been acquainted with the man. Was he truly this exhausted? Or…was it the impossible? Was the Heart corrupting him? No, certainly not; the Patriarch was the very embodiment of the Lord's Will in Bersia. No artifact of the Devil, not even one as powerful as the Ancient Heart, could corrupt him.

"I…I'm sorry, Walter," the Patriarch said wearily after a minute. "You are correct; the Heart is a heavier burden than even I anticipated. This is why I cannot risk your soul. I may be the Lord's highest servant on earth, but even I struggle to bear this burden. Even your soul, strong as it is, would be crushed beneath its weight…Enough of this now. My command is final. We make for Jungsburg!" he shouted to his guards. Ever the dutiful Paladins, they followed resolutely, barely sparing a glance for Walter, who still stood dumbfounded by the abrupt change in behavior.

Walter's own troops were right behind the Patriarchs, with Justino leading them. Walter subconsciously slid into place at the head of the formation, Justino shuffling over to his spot as adjutant.

"Walter…" Justino began unsurely.

"What?" Walter snapped. Seeing Justino's startled expression, he deflated a bit. "I'm sorry Justino, I'm just worried about his Holiness. This flight is pushing him; I fear for his health."

"I fear for his health as well," Justino replied, "but not because of the journey…"

"Speak plainly, Justino," Walter ordered, lowering his voice so the troops ahead and behind couldn't hear them.

"Who are we following here?" Justino asked. "Are we following the word of the Oracle, or the Patriarch?"

"The two are one in the same," Walter growled. He _really_ didn't like what Justino was dancing around. "Again, speak plainly, Justino. I do not like what you're implying, so if you mean something different, you'd best get it out."

"Alright then," Justino sighed, before shooting nervous glances around him. "Walter…I'm worried that the Ancient Heart is… affecting His Holiness. There is no real reason to stop in Jungsburg, and certainly none to take it to Ecclesia. He would bring the Dark Legion to the gates of Ecclesia itself! No, the Heart…it's corrupting him. This can't go on."

Walter's frown turned into a grimace of shock and anger. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but Justino really was thinking this…this _heresy_! "Justino, that's _blasphemy,_ " Walter hissed. "The Patriarch is the embodiment of the Lord's Will in Bersia. He _cannot_ be corrupted."

"The first Grand Bishop was supposedly the embodiment of the Lord's Will, yet the Ecclesian Orthodoxy still defied him, resulting in the Great Schism… which the Orthodoxy won." Justino said pointedly. "They won because the Grand Bishop had become corrupt in his power, and strayed from the Lord's light. The First Patriarch is the one who brought the Lord's light back to the faith. The Patriarch is many things, but first and foremost he is human. No human is beyond the Devil's might."

Walter felt something in him snap, and he grabbed Justino by the pauldron of his armor and yanked him close, so their faces were mere inches away. "That is _enough_ , Justino!" he growled, struggling to keep his voice down so nobody overheard. "You are speaking blasphemy and treason, and I will not tolerate it. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes," Justino said coldly. Walter nodded gruffly and shoved the man back into place, before turning back to the front. Nothing else was said between them for the rest of the march.

 _How dare he!_ Walter raged internally. _How dare he accuse the Patriarch of corruption1 The man has done more to advance the faith and destroy the Dark Legion than his last four predecessors combined, and he thinks himself enough to judge the man!? No, Justino is wrong. The Patriarch is not lost to us, and when we destroy the Ancient Heart and bring new life to Bersia, he will see._ And so Walter kept himself occupied from then until he made his bed in a guest room in Jungsburg Castle that night: switching between barely coherent rage at Justino's audacity, and pure conviction that the Patriarch was doing the right thing.

Tomorrow, they returned to Ecclesia, then shortly after, to Nowart. He would face the Dark Legion at the gates of Ecclesia himself if he had to; the Heart would be destroyed.

000

 **Brimstone Forest, Southeastern Ecclesia**

 **Nine days before the Battle of Nowart**

"The Dark Legion is here!" a scout was screaming as he ran up from the rear of the convoy. Walter's blood ran cold; they had stayed the night in Jungsburg, yes, but for the Dark Legion to cover a three day lead in mere hours? Impossible!

"Speak soldier," Walter ordered gravely as the scout stopped to catch his breath upon reaching Walter and his Holiness at the head of the column.

"D-Dark Legion troops just behind us," the scout said breathlessly. "Thousands of them. I've no idea where they came from but…Regnier is leading them personally. The rear guard is…they're gone, Captain. There's no one left. Regnier used some terrible fire spell… entire units were decimated in seconds. They stood no chance."

Walter's jaw gaped open. Kendal had deployed well over a thousand troops as the Patriarch's rear guard. Walter was about to call the man insane, before he turned his gaze south and saw a rising wall of smoke, stretching as far as he could see.

The scout wasn't lying… and that wall of smoke was only an hour's walk away.

"Deploy all troops in a defensive formation!" Walter barked to the two thousand troops behind him. Adjutants and captains scrambled to relay his orders. "Everyone is to remain here, aside from my own unit and the Patriarch's personal guard. Your orders are to hold off the Dark Legion at all costs! Do not let them through to His Holiness!" Turning back to the Patriarch and drawing his mace, he set his face into a determined grimace. "We must run, your Holiness. Ecclesia is still two hours away, and I fear what will happen if we are caught by Regnier out in the open."

"Agreed," the Patriarch answered gravely. "Lead the way, Walter."

"Open formation!" He called to his men, and they obliged; while spaced further apart, they would be able to move faster without worrying about bumping into each other. "Move!" With no further hesitation, Walter turned, and began sprinting ahead along the road. The Patriarch and his men followed, all running as fast as they could. Walter had heard rumors of Regnier's power, and that terrible wall of smoke seemed to support those rumors. He was no coward, but neither did he want to face that power. No sane man would.

The next hour passed by in a panicked blur for Walter, as they traversed the winding road that led past sheer cliffs and deep ravines, to the Holy City of Ecclesia, the seat of the Empire. _Almost there,_ Walter thought as they rounded a very familiar bend. _There!_ He nearly cried out in relief as the glorious, multi-tiered city graced his vision, but his burning lungs would never support such a wasteful thing. Every breath was precious, and they were not safe yet.

His blood ran cold, however, as he heard howling behind him. It was not the howling of wolves, however; it was the howling of blood-frenzied Orc berserkers. As the blood drained from his face, he turned around to face the threat.

At the head of the hundreds of Orcs, who were equipped with heavy armor and deadly looking axes, stood a human, much to Walter's surprise. He'd heard the rumors, of course, but had never honestly believed a human could command Orcs. But here he was: Regnier, the Lord of Hexter. He stood nearly a head taller than Walter, a set of wicked red horns protruding from the cowl and iron mask that concealed his face. His shoulders were armored with massive iron pauldrons, his hands and feet covered in iron armor, but he wore nothing else but a dirty loincloth like the savages he led. He was storming toward Walter's men with vengeful purpose, his body language screaming fury.

"Your Holiness, flee!" Walter pleaded. "Men, protect His Holiness!" he directed to the Patriarch's guards. "I'll face Regnier myself," He said with grim finality, before turning back around and pushing to the front of his men. Justino was right beside him, his own face set in grim determination.

"Go!" Walter ordered. "In the name of the Lord!" With a resounding cry, his paladins charged forward with Walter at the helm, shouting "For the glory of Ecclesia!" and "Death to pagans!"

Walter initiated combat with Regnier in the center of the field, and was forced to duck almost immediately as a huge mass of metal that Walter absently identified as a greatsword was swung over his head with enough speed and force to drag the wind with it. Walter took advantage of the opening to strike the man, landing a blow to the man's bare chest that could shatter a man's ribcage…only it didn't. Walter's mace skidded off as if he had struck a stone wall, leaving neither a bruise nor a scratch. His blood ran cold as he realized his weapon was useless.

Regnier's weapon, however, was not. He brought the weapon back around with another one-handed horizontal swing, which Walter barely managed to get his shield in front of. His arm protested as the two slabs of metal met with a deafening clang, and Walter was sent stumbling backwards. He barely managed to stumble out of the way of the third strike, a massive overhead cleave that rent the earth in twain when it missed Walter. He shuddered to think of what would have happened if that had hit him.

Regnier was not finished, however; he wrenched his blade out of the earth effortlessly, swinging it broadside at Walter. Still off balance from his clumsy dodge before, he received the full force of the blow to his side, and screamed in pain as several of his ribs broke. The force was enough to send him flying bodily through the air, despite weighing almost three hundred pounds in full armor, and he crashed into a nearby tree with a resounding crunch. Several of his armor plates were dented and bent by the impact, and Walter slid to the ground, dazed.

He was given no time to collect himself. He tried to gasp in pain as a hand gripped his throat and lifted him bodily off the ground, but no sound or air escaped. No air entered either; Walter began to grow dizzy.

"Give up the Ancient Heart, and I _may_ let you scurry to safety," Regnier ordered. His voice dripped malice and rage, and his grip loosened ever so slightly as he gave Walter room to respond.

Walter's response was swift; he spat directly into Regnier's face. The glob of saliva splashed onto the man's iron mask, and Walter was worried to see that there was more than a little blood mixed in.

"Silence, devil!" Walter ground out, though the very act of speaking hurt him. "I will yield nothing to the Dark Legion!"

Regnier's grip tightened, and Walter saw a pair of orange eyes blaze to life underneath the unnatural darkness underneath Regnier's cowl. "Weak Ecclesian!" Regnier snarled derisively as Walter began futilely trying to pry Regnier's hands away from his throat."Is that so?" He taunted before lifting up his sword, pointing the tip of the now flaming blade toward him. Around his panic at suffocation, Walter realized that he was about to die.

 _So be it,_ he thought grimly. _I shall stand before and pass Judgment at the Gates of Heaven. I have no regrets._ He even managed to smile as he imagined the beautiful world that he would miss out on. _The Patriarch will destroy the Heart,_ he thought with defiant satisfaction, and grinned wider. Regnier's blazing eyes narrowed, and the sword was drawn back. _The Patriarch will destroy the Heart, and bring new life to the world. My only regret is that I won't live to see it._

 **The new master of the Ancient Heart commands you, Regnier!**

 _What…Patriarch Dimitri!?_ Walter thought deliriously as his vision began to go black. _No, it can't be. The Patriarch has never had such malice, such…power-lust in his voice. It's certainly not him._

 **I assume the power of the Ancient Heart, and** _ **you are my slave!**_ **You shall do as I wish!**

Suddenly, Walter could breath again. Regnier's grip loosened, and eventually disappeared completely; Walter collapsed to the ground, coughing hoarsely and clutching his bruised throat.

Above him, Regnier let out a strangled groan, before speaking. "All units, retreat!" he thundered. Within seconds, all sounds of combat ceased.

Walter's gaze snapped up in utter shock. " _What!?_ " he spat out between coughs.

Regnier didn't answer, however. He instead slowly turned, full of jerky and erratic movements, and began walking away, appearing as a man possessed.

Walter watched on in disbelief as Regnier's men slowly extricated themselves from the now-abandoned melee, not entirely sure themselves of what had just happened, but determined to follow their master. Walter noticed the half-vampire that accompanied Regnier, Prince Leinhart of Vellond, staring after his master in complete shock, before cursing and vanishing in a cloud of black and purple smoke.

It was several moments before anyone moved; all around them, the Orcs that had bypassed Walter and attacked the Patriarch directly were pulling back as well, hardly sparing a glance for the humans they were just attacking. Once the Orcs were gone, Walter saw Justino hurry over to him, a worried expression on his face.

"Walter, are you alright?" He asked concernedly. "I tried to help you, but that Half-Leech bastard wouldn't get out of my way. One of the Patriarch's guards shot up a flare; we should have reinforcements soon, in case the bastard comes back."

"I-I'm fine," Walter stated, shaken by what had just happened. It shouldn't have happened at all. Regnier had them all dead to rights, then… he had heard…no, that wasn't possible. The Patriarch wouldn't dare use an artifact of the Devil. That thought was just absurd. "I must see to His Holiness," he muttered.

"Did you hear it too, Walter?" Justino asked quietly, nervously, as he helped his friend up. "I heard a whisper on the wind, carrying the Patriarch's voice, but… well… it didn't sound right. It sounded outright, wrong, actually."

Walter set his jaw and said nothing. Coincidence, perhaps, or some foul trick of Regnier's. Yes, that was it. The Dark Legion was trying to divide them! This was a ruse to get Ecclesia to go to war against itself; even Regnier had to realize that he couldn't face the Empire's might and win! Yes, that was it. That had to be it.

Finally Justino brought them before the Patriarch, and he lowered Walter gently to the ground, where he sunk to one knee; thought to be honest, it was more exhaustion than reverence. Walter grimaced as he looked behind the leader of Ecclesia; none but ten of his personal guard had survived the attack, and all were very injured, whereas he had only taken two casualties.

"Are you alright Walter?" the Patriarch asked. "I saw Regnier about to kill you, and I panicked, worried for your safety."

"I am…flattered your Holiness," Walter responded, feeling an eerie vibe coming from the Patriarch. He looked utterly calm, and almost happy, as if he _expected_ Regnier would retreat. "Please, forgive my poor performance."

"Nonsense, you have acquitted yourself with courage and sacrifice," the Patriarch said soothingly, before looking to the Ancient Heart. That lay bare in his hands, not in its satchel. _Why isn't it in its satchel?_ "It is irrelevant, now that Regnier has retreated."

"But your Holiness…how? Why did Regnier retreat? He had already won!"

"Fear not, Walter," the Patriarch responded calmly, a disconcerting grin coming to the man's face. "The Ancient Heart has the power to control Regnier."

Walter stared dumbly at the ground for a few seconds, before the full implications of the statement hit him and his gaze snapped back up. "What?" he asked in utter shock and disbelief. _He used it?_ The thought was absurd. The Patriarch using an artifact of the Devil was like the grass turning purple, or water feeling dry. There were just certain axiomatic truths that couldn't be violated; one of them was the Patriarch being the Will of the Lord in Bersia. And the Lord would never will the use of an artifact of the Devil.

"Walter, Regnier's soul is bound to the Ancient Heart," the Patriarch said excitedly. Walter's mind took a second to catch up, only to slide further into shock. He was _excited_ about this!? "As Encablossa's avatar, he became immortal, but in doing so, his will became bound to the Ancient Heart…and whoever holds it!" _Enca…what?_ He thought dumbly. He was dead, that's it. Perhaps he was in Purgatory before he would be allowed entry to Heaven, for his crimes at Greyhampton, and the Devil was taunting him with what he feared most while he was there.

"Imagine it Walter!" The Patriarch continued, not even waiting for Walter to show that he'd even registered what the Patriarch said. "I could use Regnier to drive the Dark Legion from the East, and _unite_ Bersia! _Then_ I could destroy the Ancient Heart! How _glad_ the Lord would be!"

Walter looked to Justino in shock, his mouth slightly agape. _I did not just hear that_ ,Walter mentally denied. _I did not just hear that. I did not just hear that._ The look on Justino's face, however, told him he _did_ , in fact, just hear that. As Walter watched, Justino's face shifted from shock, to fear, to revulsion, to cold, grim determination. Justino then looked to Walter, and shook his head in resignation.

 _He's gone, Walter,_ the look told him.

 _No,_ Walter thought desperately, _this isn't happening._ "Your Holiness," Walter said, almost pleading, "the Ancient Heart is an artifact of evil! The Oracle clearly ordered us to destroy it at the Altar of Nowart!"

"Ah, but the Lord did not specify the _steps_ in that process, Walter," the Patriarch said, tapping the side of his head knowingly, a smug grin on his face.

 _He's…gone,_ Walter realized hopelessly, feeling his heart break at the realization. _The Patriarch's soul is lost, may God have mercy on it._

 _But…what now?_ Walter thought, consumed by despair and disbelief. _The will of the Oracle must be fulfilled! Perhaps the Patriarch truly does intend to destroy…no… not now. He's too far gone. Time will only increase the Heart's hold on him._ He looked to Justino pleadingly; his friend had always led him back to the path when he was lost, surely he would have an idea of what to do?

Justino met his gaze with that same cold, determined expression, then looked southeast. _Southeast, what's southeast…Greyhampton,_ Walter realized. That is where all of this had started. When they had destroyed the village to make the journey to the Altar of Destruction possible. Where they had martyred hundreds for the sake of the Oracle's word. Where they had done what had to be done to fulfill the Will of the Oracle, no matter how blasphemous or immoral.

Walter realized that there was no choice for him to make; it was already made for him.

"It is not your right to decide, Your Holiness," Walter said lowly, with a tone of finality, as he stood back up straight, mace in hand.

"Are…are you disobeying me, Walter!?" The Patriarch shouted angrily, his voice simultaneously expressing sheer disbelief, and clearly giving Walter a warning.

This was the Patriarch giving him one last chance to obey, Walter realized. But there was only one being Walter truly served, and that was the Lord. And he had spoken his will directly through his Oracle. The Patriarch stood in the way of that now.

There was no turning back, not after everything he'd done so far.

"Your Holiness," Walter said loudly, clearly, but with a tinge of pain to it, "you are acting against the Lord's Will!"

The accusation rang loud and clear across the field; the Patriarch's guards and his men both stared at him in utter shock. No one had _ever_ accused a Patriarch of heresy; it was utterly unprecedented.

The Patriarch did not take kindly to Walter's statement. "Blasphemy!" he roared furiously. Walter was pained to see the Heart giving off a faint, pulsing light in his hands; it was thriving on his anger, and likely increasing its hold on the man. "This is nothing but sacrilege and blasphemy! Walter, _I excommunicate you!_ Tie up the pagan, and hand him over to the Inquisitors!" he shouted to his guards. The men were too shocked to react immediately.

Walter seized his chance and turned wildly to his men. "Soldiers!" he cried, "His Holiness has been corrupted by the evil of the Ancient Heart! We must free him from it! Take the Ancient Heart away from him!" His own men didn't respond immediately, and Walter had no time to rally them; the Patriarch's guards were already moving forward to seize him. Walter charged forward to meet them, mace raised.

To his surprise, his first target was impaled by a lance before he could reach him; he briefly turned to see Justino by his side, before turning back to the rest of the Patriarch's guards. As he engaged three at once, he heard one of his men shout "For the Lord, and the Oracle!" Within seconds, all of Walter's paladins were chanting that phrase, and charging forward to help him.

Being so grossly outnumbered, the Patriarch's men were overwhelmed almost instantly.

"You are all excommunicated!" the Patriarch shouted angrily as the last few of his guards began to fall, but with a tinge of fear in his voice. "All Emissaries are to be expelled from the Church!" He turned to flee on his horse, but Walter quickly threw a lightning spell in the beast's direction. It connected instantly, causing the horse to cry out in pain and collapse, throwing the Patriarch bodily away. As the last guard fell, Walter began walking up to the Patriarch, who was struggling to stand, clutching the Heart desperately.

"Walter, think about your son!" he pleaded as Walter approached. Walter winced at the idea of what would become of his son now, but he could not stop: the Lord's will came before all, even before his own son. "Fine then!" the Patriarch snarled, his voice growing deep and almost wild. "You pagans will all burn in hell!" With that, the Heart burst to life in his hand, glowing a deep, sickly red, and the Patriarch gathered a flame spell in his other hand. Walter barely got his shield in the way before the spell was released.

Walter knew the Patriarch was a powerful mage; it was practically a requirement as Patriarch to be an expert on magical matters. But the spell he released, fueled by the unholy energy of the Ancient Heart, was more akin to actual dragonfire than anything else. Walter roared in agony as the flames spilled around his shield, heating his armor up to unbearable levels. He heard Justino run by him, roaring incoherently, only to stop and curse as the flames cut off, and the Patriarch sent an ice spear the size of a horse in his direction.

"Your Holiness!" Walter desperately pleaded, but could see it was no good; the man had a wild, manic gleam in his eye; he was well and truly gone. As the Patriarch sent lance after lance of ice at Justino, laughing insanely the entire time as the man scrambled to avoid them, Walter closed in. The Patriarch realized his danger too late, and couldn't turn quickly enough to face him and cast another spell.

Walter's shield slammed across the Patriarch's head with as much force as he could bring himself to muster; the man let out a piteous cry of pain before falling to the ground, dropping the Heart in the process. Even as he fell, though, the Patriarch grabbed wildly for it, and even as he hit the ground, was scrambling to retrieve it.

Walter, seeing this, immediately stepped on the Patriarch's arm, just as his hand was inches shy of the foul relic. Walter winced as he felt the man's frail old bones crack underneath his weight, and the man screamed in agony. Even so, Patriarch Dimitri reached his other hand for the Heart, utterly possessed by the urge to hold it. Walter realized that the man would keep struggling for it, and made one of the hardest decisions of his life.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he brought his mace down on the Patriarch's head. There was a sickening crunch, and the man went still.

The clearing was quiet after that; only the sounds of Justino's and Walter's labored breathing could be heard. The Ancient Heart was completely inert now; though it sparkled brilliantly with the light from the setting sun, it no longer emitted the fell red glow it had before.

"Captain Walter," one of his paladins muttered in horror, as the implications of Walter's actions fully hit him. Around the same time, the rest of his men began muttering amongst themselves.

Walter didn't speak, at first. His mind was struggling to comprehend what he'd just done.

He'd killed the Patriarch.

 _He'd killed the Patriarch._

 _I…I had no choice,_ Walter thought miserably. _Dimitri left me no damned choice! Why!?_ He mentally screamed, though his mouth was still ignoring any signals sent to it. _Why does it have to be like this, Lord? How much farther must I tear apart my soul for this quest!?Who else must I kill? Kendal? Thomas, even!? What have I done to deserve this!?_ He took a deep breath, as the thoughts of what may lie ahead flitted through his mind. The breath somehow served to calm him, and his resolve returned. _There is no turning back now. We are committed._

"We _cannot_ go against the will of the Oracle!" Walter said aloud as his mouth finally began working again. "Send word to whatever troops of ours survived Regnier's assault. All soldiers are to move to Nowart!" He looked at the Patriarch's limp form one last time, before turning back to his men. "May the Lord bless you," he added with as much resolve as he could muster. His men slowly departed, going to round up the survivors.

"Walter," Justino said lowly, "you did the right thing."

"I know, Justino," Walter replied quietly. "I just wish that doing the right thing didn't require doing so many wrong things." With that, he turned away from the Patriarch's battered form, and began marching north.

000

"I see," Chrom said after a long moment of silence once Walter finished his tale. "You said you waited until it was absolutely necessary to betray Patriarch Dimitri?"

"Absolutely," Walter said confidently. "I had worked under him for many years; he was almost like a father to me, in some ways. Striking him down weighs on my soul almost as much as Greyhampton; maybe more in some ways. He survived that day, by some miracle, but was presumably killed when Encablossa was summoned." Walter felt his breath catch, and his eyes stung. "Forgive, me Prince Chrom," he choked out. "I do not wish to speak of it further. He was a compassionate, almost fatherly man, and having had to strike him down scarred me."

"I understand," Chrom assured him sympathetically. "But what I'm about to ask of you will require that same resolve, to do what must be done, when it needs to be done. Can I count on you?"

Walter hesitated for a minute. He had told himself that he wouldn't do that anymore. That he would do the right thing, the right way. That he would live up to Thomas' expectations of him. But…Chrom had done so much for him. He had taken him in, given him purpose, protected him, fought for and with him. He owed the Prince that much.

"I am yours to command, Prince Chrom," Walter answered finally, leaning forward and crossing his hands on the table.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

 **The Night Before Castle Plegia**

"Alright, Shepherds, listen up!" Robin called out to the assembled soldiers. The Shepherds, having gathered together at Chrom's order, were milling about and talking amongst themselves, but the idle chatter ceased almost immediately at Robin's call. "Tomorrow, we enter Castle Plegia and rescue the Exalt!"

Walter looked up at the Plegian capital, looming over them several miles away. They were taking shelter on a farm on the outskirts of the capital at the end of their month-long march, being sheltered by one of the few families sympathetic to Ylisseans (a rare find this close to Gangrel's seat of power), but could still see the tremendous castle in the distance. It was a grim, foreboding sight; the original Castle Plegia, a beautiful monument and a testament to true Plegian architecture, had been razed to rubble by General Thorne in the last war. When it had been rebuilt, it had been designed for maximum defense, with nearly no thought spared for aesthetics. It was a dark, foreboding fortress, surrounded on all sides by incredibly high, thick walls that Walter doubted even a day's constant mortar barrage could break. Even beyond the walls, however, he could see what looked to be a sort of odd skull, and more bones of some sort. According to legend, that was the skeleton of the Fell Dragon Grima, which Chrom's ancestor has slain a thousand years ago. Walter found himself hoping that it was simply exaggeration; if those bones were truly those of a dragon, said dragon would be the size of a mountain!

"This is our plan," Robin continued, drawing Walter's gaze back to the briefing. "General Thorne and the Ylissean Army are less than a day's march behind us, and making good time; Gangrel was either unprepared for such a straightforward march, and struggling to mobilize his troops to counter us…or he's letting us charge into a trap." Robin sighed. "To be honest, I'm expecting the latter, and will make no claims that this plan is foolproof, or that it will even survive once we reveal ourselves, but this is the plan nonetheless: We will infiltrate the spectators for Emmeryn's execution, kill or disable all aerial units and archers in the area, and send our Pegasus knights-" he gestured to Captain Phila, Sumia, and Cordelia- "in to rescue the Exalt. Once she's been rescued, we will flee the city in all haste, hopefully underneath the cover of General Thorne's siege. Are there any questions?"

Walter tuned out of the briefing after that; he had already been briefed ahead of time. He knew the Exalt was to be pushed from the very skull he could see from here, he knew the parts they were all to play. What concerned Walter was what was to occur afterwards.

Chrom had lost all faith and trust in General Thorne. Even with the Shepherds giving the Plegian civilians time to flee, General Thorne had leveled every oasis village in his path on his way to the capital, occupied or not. Dozens of villages were irreparably ruined due to the man's brutality, whatever villagers that elected to remain behind were dead. Chrom did not trust General Thorne to retreat when they had rescued the Exalt, so consumed was he in his lust for violence, and so he had asked this of Walter: to link up with the Army after the Exalt's rescue, and _ensure_ Thorne complied with the order; by force if needed. And if General Thorne resisted violently, then Walter was to ensure that he was…removed from his position.

The very thought of it turned Walter's stomach. He was little better than an assassin in waiting; he himself doubted General Thorne would do anything but attempt to raze Castle Plegia once more, making the outcome seem all but absolute. But Prince Chrom had asked it of him, and he had sworn to serve the Prince. This meant even following orders he found…unconscionable. He just hoped this was the only such order he would receive from the Prince; the boy wasn't like this before, this… cold. Ruthless even. He prayed this was just a temporary shift in personality, a reaction to the necessities of war.

"Is there nothing else?" Robin asked the crowd as the last question was answered. "No? Alright then. Make sure you all get some rest tonight; we will need it tomorrow." With that, Robin and Chrom walked away, talking in low voices, and the Shepherds dispersed.

Walter walked forward, however; he wished to speak with Captain Phila about tomorrow. She was standing with the other Pegasus knights, discussing tomorrow's mission (though why were they laughing so much about it, and why was Phila blushing so furiously?), when he arrived within speaking distance.

"Captain Phila," Walter said loudly enough to get her attention. The Captain turned, raising an eyebrow in wordless question. The other two began giggling, causing a small frown to appear on Walter's face. "I wish to examine your injuries one last time."

"You won't pull me off of this mission, will you?" Phila asked worriedly.

"I will if I must," Walter answered honestly, causing Phila to frown angrily and open her mouth. He held a hand out, however, and she kept her peace. "However, your injuries seem to have healed quite well, all things considered. I would like to examine them again, but I do not think keeping you out of the mission will be necessary."

Phila sighed in relief. "Very well then. I will meet you at my tent shortly." Walter nodded in acceptance as she walked away.

"You really care about her, don't you Walter?" Sumia asked, with a curious grin on her face. "You spend so much of your time worrying about her wounds."

Walter was nonplussed."Of course. She is my patient, and my oaths as a healer demand such concern. Beyond that, she is an outstanding member of Ylisse's military, having dedicated to her life to defending the halidom, and deserves the best treatment I can provide."

"I see," Sumia answered, giggling a little. "Well, I think it's very touching, how much you fuss over her."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Speak plainly, Sumia: what are you on about?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'm not on about anything," Sumia said, clearly trying to restrain her laughter. Walter was outright confused now. What had come over her?

"Sumia!" Cordelia butted in, shoving Sumia lightly. "You are such a blabbermouth!"

"Coming from you, I consider that a compliment!" Sumia laughed.

"Cordelia?" Walter asked, utterly lost as to where the conversation was going. "What is Sumia talking about?"

Cordelia's response was to blush heavily, causing Walter to frown in concern. "N-nothing, Sir Walter," she responded far too quickly for Walter's liking. "Nothing at all."

"Come on, let's go check our equipment before heading to bed. Good night, Walter!" With that, the two Pegasus knights walked away, giggling madly and whispering to each other. Walter remained behind for a few minutes, thoroughly befuddled, before shaking his head and walking toward Phila's tent. _Women,_ Walter thought derisively. _Has it really been so long since my wife's death that I am once again incapable of understanding them?...although, I cannot profess to have ever truly understood the workings of Ruth's mind either. Women are mysterious creatures,_ he thought amusedly as he drew near Phila's tent.

"Captain Phila," Walter called out, standing patiently outside. "Are you prepared?"

"Yes, yes, come in," Phila stated distractedly. Walter obliged, and entered her tent. She kept her tent neat and tidy, as one could expect of a lifetime soldier. Several manuals and reports were stacked beside her cot, and Phila sat on the edge of it cross-legged and facing the head of the cot, poring over a tactical manual. She was already disrobed but for the chest covering and her trousers, utterly absorbed in the text.

"What are you reading this time?" Walter asked. The Captain had recently gotten into reading while he did his work. Walter was thankful; finding topics to talk about were becoming hard to come by, at least without revisiting either of their military careers…which was not really a topic either enjoyed. Phila had been part of the brutal First Plegian War, and Walter's role in his own was well known.

"Robin lent me one of his tactical manuals," Phila replied, half distracted as she continued reading. "He came upon a copy of the standard Valmese Pegasus Knight training manual, and suggested I read this myself. I have to agree with him; this is a worthwhile read."

Walter nodded as he sat down behind Phila and began removing her dressings. "Are Valmese tactics so different?"

"Not markedly," Phila answered. "There are only so many ways one can use a Pegasus Knight formation. But the Valmese clearly favor direct aggression in their maneuvers, whereas Ylissean knights focus more on targeting support units and scouting. As such, they have several novel ways in which to attack."

"What of Plegian Pegasus Knights?" Walter asked as he began examining her wounds. He hadn't recalled seeing one before, but it never hurt to be prepared for them.

Phila growled, which took Walter off guard. "Plegian Pegasus Knights, what few there are, use anima magic or even dark magic to attack, as opposed to swords or lances."

"Why does this upset you?" Walter asked. He understood tradition, but such a…vivid response to a violation of it? There had to be more to this.

"Because using magic around your pegasus …changes them," Phila responded. "Pegasi are creatures of light magic; they rely primarily on that to fly, their wings act mostly to stabilize them, not provide lift. Using anima magic taints that. They are still capable of flight, but they become more…aggressive. Unruly. Even their very coat changes; they turn from pure white to a deep, unsettling black, and their magic is unstable at times. Using dark magic around them makes them even worse; most of them end up having to be put down. Instead of living for centuries, they are forced to be put down within a decade, since they grow beyond the rider's control and become a danger to those around them."

Walter frowned in concern; he hadn't realized how sensitive to magic the creatures were. "But don't Ylisseans normally use them to attack groups of mages, given their resistance to magic? Why would they put them at such risk?"

"It's not just the magic itself," Phila replied uncertainly. "It's the…bond the Pegasus and rider share. It is difficult to explain, but I will try my best. A pegasus and rider form an empathetic bond, both emotional and magical in nature. This is why most men cannot ride a pegasus for an extended period of time; they lack the amount of empathy required to form the bond, and the pegasus ultimately rejects their claim to ownership." Walter frowned at the implication that men weren't empathetic, but remained silent. "Cordelia has stated she knows of one man who managed to do so, and I have heard of others, but it is incredibly rare. Using such destructive magic taints this bond, and affects the pegasus' very being."

"I understand," Walter responded as he continued healing her wounds; they were looking quite better, almost fully healed even. "I see that you disapprove of Plegians using these… 'Dark Fliers', I guess one could say?"

"Very much so," Phila responded vehemently."They disrespect the bond all Pegasus Knights form with their mounts. They care more for destroying the enemy than they do their mount's health and happiness. They treat them as cattle, tools, and that is just…fundamentally wrong. Pegasi are so much more than mere beasts, nearly as intelligent as an adult human, but the Plegians do not understand that. That violation of nature is why so few Plegians ride pegasi," she concluded. "Plegian warriors are too destructive and cruel; wild pegasi openly flee from them, and it's virtually impossible to domesticate the creatures. No, Plegians almost always prefer wyverns for their aerial cavalry; the beasts are more brutal, primitive, more accepting of violent riders and violent intentions. There is no bond that needs be formed, not like there is for a Pegasus Knight."

"I understand," Walter stated sympathetically. "And I can see that you hold much disdain for wyvern riders."

"They are as brutal and vicious as their mounts," Phila snapped. "It takes a twisted and savage mind to break and tame a wyvern." Walter found himself agreeing; every Plegian he had seen riding a wyvern had been twisted and cruel, Captain Vasto from Breakneck Pass coming to mind immediately.

"Well, that's that," Walter stated as he finished his ministrations. Phila's back was still heavily scarred and still injured, but she was (finally) combat ready. "You have my leave to take part in the mission tomorrow."

"I would have simply gone anyway," Phila retorted, turning around with a smile, "but thank you. I greatly appreciate the care you've shown me."

"You are welcome," Walter responded politely, before remembering something. "Sumia had several remarks to say about the level of care I've demonstrated, though I could make no sense of her, around her incessant giggling."

Phila's face turned unnaturally pale. "What are you talking about?"

"She said it was 'rather touching', but would say nothing of it when pressed further," Walter answered, his previous befuddlement returning. "Cordelia admonished her as a 'blabbermouth', but neither would speak plainly what they were thinking. I left thoroughly confused with the whole affair; I believe they may have lost their wits."

Phila's face contorted in frustration. "Those two little.. argh!" She cried. Now Walter was even more confused. Phila had succumbed to the apparently contagious madness as well? "I told those two buffoons that there was nothing…oh nevermind," she grumbled. "Thank you, Sir Walter, for your treatment. I shall retire early tonight, I think."

Walter stood up immediately, his confused frown not leaving his face. "Very well," he said slowly, his befuddlement evident in his tone. "Good night, Captain Phila."

"Good night, Sir Walter," she responded as Walter exited the tent.

Walter began striding back to his own tent, stewing in his confusion. This was no time for the Pegasus Knights to be taking leave of their senses, given the importance of their roles tomorrow. Walter sighed in frustration as he entered his own tent and threw himself on his cot. All he could do was hope that whatever malady they all suffered would not affect the mission.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

 **Emmeryn**

"Gaius, go," Walter whispered. The ginger-haired thief nodded, before seemingly vanishing into the crowd. Walter looked for him briefly, before giving up; if he could not spot the man, then Plegian Army certainly wouldn't either. Not until he and his temporary subordinates Panne and Gregor had managed to eliminate the archers in one section of the castle wall to give the Pegasus Knights their opening, at any rate.

The Shepherds were inside Castle Plegia's outer wall now; General Thorne and the Ylissean Army had been sighted that morning, and all civilians were being drawn into the castle for safety. This was the Shepherds' ticket in; with thousands of people moving into the city, it was impossible for the guards to check them all. Walter himself, despite looking incredibly large due to his armor being concealed beneath a heavy black cloak (that Walter found insufferably hot in the desert heat), had gotten in without any fuss. As the gates closed behind them, Walter could hear the panicked shouting of the soldiers atop the wall. Within seconds, orders to fire were being issued; the siege of Castle Plegia had begun.

The Shepherds all knew their assignments; the bulk of the Shepherds would be attending the execution ceremony, and rescue the Exalt. Gaius and his subordinates would be creating a hole in the outer wall's perimeter of archers for the Pegasus Knights to exploit. Miriel, with Vaike and Nowi in tow, would be heading to the main gate with Miriel's first prototype black powder bomb. She had tested her mixture thoroughly, and in small amounts it functioned as desired (much to the alarm of the camp during her first unannounced test), but Walter did not know if such a large mixture would work properly. They could only pray it did; their escape route depended on that gate being open. That was why Nowi and Vaike were going along, though; if the bomb didn't work, the three of them would seize the gatehouse and open the gates manually. If worse came to worst, Nowi could probably even pry it open by hand. Walter still hoped desperately that the bomb would work; seizing a guarded gatehouse during a siege was no small feat, and he was unsure if those three could manage it, manakete present or not. Walter quickly sent a prayer to the Lord for good fortune in the coming hours.

They would sorely need it.

Walter was among the group attending the ceremony, and worked his way into the growing crowd. The execution was to take place in a courtyard of sorts just outside of the inner wall. Walter was disconcerted to find that he _had_ spotted a skull before; it was a massive, draconian monstrosity, with a maw large enough to consume the entire crowd with room to spare. Six large holes lined the top half of the skull; eye sockets, Walter realized nervously. The skull seemed to exude a menacing aura; Walter's neck hairs were on end, and he found himself glancing about nervously, and not just because of the guards.

There were plenty of those, however; he saw dozens of Plegian soldiers at the front of the crowd, likely as security against whatever plot they thought the Shepherds could concoct. Walter started in alarm as he saw members of the Grimleal present. Specifically, he was looking at one mage in particular; a young woman of an age with the average Shepherd, with lustrous black hair and a gossamer body suit that left very little to Walter's imagination. She was leering quite pointedly in Robin's direction. Despite Robin covering his own coat with another cloak (how did he survive such stifling clothing in this blasted heat!?) the dark mage was staring at him as if he had a bright sign painted over his head, pointing him out to her.

Walter gently worked his way forward to where Robin stood, and gently brushed against his arm to get his attention. "That dark mage," he muttered quietly, attempting to keep his voice from being overheard. "She is leering directly at you."

"I know," Robin replied nervously. "She's not alerting the guards however, so I'm not sure she knows who I am or what we're here for. Let's just hope she doesn't figure it out until the event starts."

Walter shot a surreptitious glance and the woman, and noted that she was now grinning widely, almost manically, and clearly chuckling darkly to herself. He resolved to keep an eye on her in the coming battle; she was clearly unhinged.

"Plegian citizens!" A voice called out, bringing the muttering crowd to instantaneous silence. Standing atop a balcony overlooking the courtyard stood King Gangrel and his consort, Aversa. "Good people! Warriors of Plegia, devout Grimleal, welcome all!" he cried. The crowd cheered around Walter, and he frowned. Was this man truly so beloved by his own people? That boded ill for the war effort. "We all remember the crimes of Ylisse, do we not!?" Another roar from the crowd. "Would you have their witch-queen answer for them!?" The crowd roared ecstatically. "YEEEEESSSS!" Gangrel roared along with them. "Finally, we shall have justice for the crimes of the Mad Exalt Bertrand!" He then turned to the the dragon's skull, and shouted "Bring out the whore-queen to answer for Ylisse's crimes!" The crowd cheered in approval as a pair of people walked up to the top of the skull. The first was obviously the executioner; a large, barrel chested man wearing a black hood over his head, carrying a wicked looking axe, he was walking behind the second. The second was Emmeryn herself, looking surprisingly healthy; even her clothing, the same robes she had worn in Ylisstol, were clean and untorn.

"She looks…well," Robin muttered, confused. "Did they leave her unharmed?"

"It is likely that they did," Walter answered. "If she appeared to be bloodied or broken, it could garner her sympathy from the people, and I doubt Gangrel wants that…though we cannot be sure what torment she suffered from her captors that we cannot see." Robin grimaced as he understood Walter's implication. Women captives were rarely treated well by their captors.

"Executioner!" Gangrel shouted, his voice manic with glee. "Would you be so kind?"

The executioner nodded, chuckling grimly, as he stepped forward, raising his axe behind Emmeryn, who stared forward resolutely, unwaveringly; she was resigned to her fate.

"Virion!" Walter heard Chrom shout to his left. The crowd died to silence immediately, just in time for Walter to hear the twang of a bowstring. A second later, the executioner let out a cry of agony; Virion's arrow had pierced his heart. The man lost his balance, and slipped from the skull. He hit the stone courtyard with a sickening thud, and did not move.

"What!?" Gangrel cried in shock.

"Everyone, NOW!" Robin shouted, before drawing his sword and leaping at the nearest guard. Walter followed suit, and their targets dropped without a fight.

"Kill all the soldiers and rescue Emmeryn!" Chrom shouted, ripping his cloak off, his silver armor resplendent in the midday sun. "We'll deal with the Mad King some other time!"

"Oh, will you now, Princeling?" Gangrel growled sadistically. "We've been waiting for you! Kill the whore! Kill the Prince! Kill his friends, his comrades, and anyone else you can find! KILL THEM ALL!" With a sadistic laugh, he stepped back on the balcony and out of sight.

The crowd immediately panicked, and began fighting to escape, as the Shepherds uncloaked themselves and leapt forward. It was madness; Walter could barely find a target between all of the civilians.

"Exalt Emmeryn, no!" a woman shouted to Walter's left. He turned to see a platinum blonde woman wielding a black and red axe, wearing the clothes of a… male Ylissean priest? "Gods, speed me to her side!" the person shouted, leaping at a nearby archer who was beginning to aim his bow at the Exalt. Walter winced as the man's axe made contact with the distracted archer's neck, rending his head from his body in one clean swipe.

"Kill the archers!" Walter cried, realizing there were more. He then followed his own advice, and immediately targeted the nearest archer. He managed to fire a panicked arrow at Walter, but it missed in his haste, and Walter's mace took him out of the fight for good.

"Where are our damn wyverns!?" he heard a man shout. Looking to the source, he noticed a heavily armored, bald man, hefting a heavy spear and glancing about angrily. "Hold them back men, or I will kill you myself!" a messenger ran up to him, and the man frowned after receiving the message. "What do you mean, Mustafa deployed them to the wall? They were the centerpiece of the trap, is the man insane!? Begone, before I use you to vent my frustrations!"

Walter frowned in disgust; that was no way to lead men, using threats and intimidation. He was glad Mustafa had run interference, however unintentionally. Or perhaps it _was_ intentional? Nevertheless, they might may be at war with Plegia, but he would do them a favor in removing this nuisance from their ranks.

"I challenge you to single combat!" Walter roared, pushing past Lon'qu, who was dueling with an enemy swordsman.

"You face Campari, High General of Plegia!" the man roared. "Despair! You will never save your Exalt, Ylissean scu-aaarrrggghh!" the man cried as powerful lightning surged through him. But Walter wasn't the one who cast it. He turned his gaze to see the dark mage from before, cackling wildly, the last traces of the lightning spell flickering across her fingertips.

"What was that about?" Walter asked her guardedly, keeping his weapon at the ready.

"You heard the man; he threatened to kill me," the woman replied almost boredly. "Am I to fight and die here, simply because some overdressed jester commands it? We're given no reason to fight, only orders! Pfft. I care nothing for you Ylisseans or this war. Besides… I've always been good at picking who to hate, and who to kill, on my own," she finished, grinning cruelly. "Perhaps you'll do next?" With that Walter raised his weapon and shield fully, as she gathered dark magic in her hand.

"Or perhaps you'll be willing to fight with us instead?" Chrom said from behind him, stepping between the two and raising his hand placatingly.

"Are you mad?" Walter asked Chrom. "She just murdered her own General! She's a madwoman!"

"You would trust me to watch your back?" the woman asked, her tone curious now. "What if this is just some ruse, to give me the opportunity to place a knife in your back?"

"My sister," Chrom stated, pointing up to where Emmeryn was anxiously watching the battle below, "I think she would trust you. I'm trying to learn from her. Besides, I need to watch my back anyway, whether you're with us or not."

To their surprise, the woman merely laughed. "Well, this certainly is… interesting," she said, grinning evilly. "Normally when I bring up the backstabbing bit, the discussion is over. Alright then, Prince, consider me your new ally…for now. You may call me Tharja." With that, she turned away from the two, chuckling darkly as she began flinging spells at her former comrades.

"You certainly do choose your allies strangely," Walter told the Prince as the last soldiers began falling.

"We're in no shape to argue against new allies," Chrom argued. "Come on let's finish them off." Within a few minutes, the last guard fell to Tharja sending a lance of lightning through his chest.

"Robin!" Chrom yelled. "There are no wyverns and all the soldiers are dead! If there's any time for the signal, it's now!"

"Right!" Robin replied, before reaching into his bag. He pulled out a small canister, filled with Miriel's black powder, and set it on the ground. He then took several steps back, and cast a small fire spell at it. Once the flame connected, the tube exploded, sending a shower of sparks and smoke into the sky with a resounding bang. Within seconds, there was another, matching explosion, far greater in magnitude. Within seconds, Walter heard the panicked shouts of soldiers about how the gate was breached.

Shortly after, the Pegasus Knights flew over the outer wall unmolested; Gaius had done his work well, and the hole was opened. The knights bolted over the city, arriving at the courtyard swiftly, easily dodging the few arrows fired at them. Within seconds of arriving, Phila was by the Exalt, trying to find somewhere she could drift close enough to get Emmeryn on the back of her mount. Once she found a spot, they'd have her! They'd rescued Emmeryn! Walter was flooded with joy and relief at the thought.

"What!?" Gangrels irate voice could be heard. Walter looked back up to see the man had returned to the balcony, and his face was twisted in rage. "Pegasus Knights? I thought we'd killed them all at the border! That Ylissean tactician does not play fair!"

"Yes, well," Aversa said, pulling something from behind her back. It was dark, wooden box, and just looking at it made Walter's skin crawl. "Neither do I," she finished, just as she opened the box. It opened with a sound like a scream of the damned, and from it spewed forth a foul black mist that Walter could tell was practically pure dark magic. It stank strongly of death and rot. It flowed down from the balcony and hit the courtyard in seconds.

"Get back!" Tharja screamed, sounding almost panicked. "Don't let the mist touch you!" The Shepherds, alarmed by Tharja's sudden shift in demeanor, began backpedaling away from the mist.

Walter felt the blood drain from his face, however, as he saw what happened next. As the mist flowed over the corpses of the Plegian soldiers, Walter could see it flow _into_ them. Within seconds, to Walter's horror, the corpses began rising again. One by one, each soldier they had slain began stumbling to their feet, letting loose the same rasping growls that he'd heard in the forest south of Ylisstol. Within seconds, every single soldier who'd died had come back as Risen, glaring at the Shepherds hatefully with their baleful red eyes as the mist faded away.

"They can summon Risen!?" Chrom shouted in shock.

"Chrom, they're everywhere!" Robin shouted in panic. There were at least three dozen of them, starting to close in on the Shepherds.

"Oh my!" Gangrel laughed raucously. "Did Aversa just undo all of your hard work!?" he cackled again. "Archers!" he cried. "Kill those Pegasus Knights!"

The Shepherds watched on in horror as the dozen or so archers immediately turned their bows skyward. Cordelia and Sumia were able to get out of bow range, having stopped just overhead of the Shepherds. But Captain Phila was behind their lines and her expression became panicked as every archer turned its attention to her.

"Fire!" Gangrel ordered gleefully.

"Phila, fall back!" Walter roared. The woman started, and began darting away from the skull to evade the arrows…but it wasn't fast enough. Emmeryn and the Shepherds all cried out in horror as the archers loosed their arrows, each one with deadly precision. Phila cried out in agony as five separate arrows found gaps in her breastplate. The rest hit her pegasus, eliciting an ear-piercing squeal of pain. The beast slowly began losing height as it flew forward, before its life ended completely, and it dropped out of the sky near the Shepherds, a limp Phila coming with it.

Walter barely registered Gangrel's wicked laughter as Phila and her mount crashed to the ground in front of the Shepherds, her mount's legs snapping in a sickening crunch. He dashed forward desperately; he hadn't spent nearly a month treating the woman for her to die now! He skidded to his knees next to her, and checked for a pulse…She was still alive! But just barely, and the pulse was so weak…

"Exeunt one Pegasus Knight!" Gangrel crowed, laughing wildly.

"No," Robin gasped nearby, his jaw dropping in horror as Walter began tearing at Phila's armor, trying to get to her wounds to treat them. "No, no, no, no, no…."

"We… we've lost," Chrom muttered hopelessly, staring miserably at Emmeryn, who had covered her eyes at Phila's fall. Walter succeeded in removing the breastplate, and began ripping her tunic out of the way. Modesty be damned, she was about to die!

"Now, _this_ is what's called a reversal of fortunes!" Gangel taunted from above. The Shepherds all roared angrily at him as Walter pulled out a knife shakily and began cutting into the wounds, prying the arrowheads out with as much speed as he could muster while still being cautious. There was so much blood…"Now, grovel before me! Plead, beg for your worthless lives!"

"I would give up my life before I begged for it from you!" Chrom snarled defiantly.

"Oh, now THAT is a good line," Gangrel complimented flippantly as Walter continued cutting the arrows out of Phila's body. "A fitting epitaph for your tombstone, perhaps? But it is not just your life on the line, little Prince. Your sister still stands upon the block! I have a dozen bows trained on her! All it would take is one word from me…" he finished his unspoken threat with a cruel smile.

"Emm!" Chrom cried desperately. "Hold on Emm! I'm-"

"Archers!" Gangrel shouted over him. "If this Ylissean pup so much as _twitches_ , let fly your arrows!"

Chrom worked his mouth wordlessly for a second, trying to find a way out of this. But there was none. "I'll kill you!" He screamed furiously. "You hear me Gangrel!? I will end your miserable life!"

"Go on!" Gangrel dared, "I welcome it! Just know that it will be _you_ who was responsible for dear sister's bloody demise!" Chrom's protests died down at that thought. "No? What of the rest of you? Who wants the honor of killing the Exalt!?" None of the Shepherds moved, or spoke. Walter himself stopped his desperate attempts to staunch Phila's bleeding, considering it himself, but…he couldn't. It wasn't his place, and he couldn't bring himself to pass such judgment anyway. "No one? Your merry little band isn't so headstrong anymore is it? Pathetic!"

"Damn you!" Chrom roared in frustration as Walter returned to his desperate attempts to save Phila. "Damn you to the ninth hell!"

"Now, now, Prince," Gangrel replied in the most frustratingly patient tone he could muster. "No one needs to die today. Not you. Not the Exalt. None of your friends. Just drop your sword, and surrender the Fire Emblem."

Walter frowned in concern, shooting Chrom a spare look. The man had brought the Emblem with him; he was actually using it as a shield. Chrom looked down to his arm for a moment, actually considering it.

"Don't, Chrom," Robin warned. "He'll just kill us all anyway."

"You think I don't know that?" Chrom snapped back. "I'm not an idiot! But if I just say no he'll kill her! Damn, but the gods are cruel! This is a question with no right answer, yet I must choose anyway!"

"Tick, tock, little Prince," Gangrel taunted. "My patience is not infinite. The Emblem, or your precious sister. The time to choose is _now_!" Chrom didn't move, and Gangrel's eyes narrowed. "I'll give you to the count of three to decide. One. Twooooo…"

"Hold, Gangrel!" Chrom shouted. "You…you win," he grumbled miserably. "Everyone lay down your weapons."

"No!" Emmeryn shouted, the first time she'd spoken for the entirety of the battle.

"Silence!" Gangrel hissed.

"King Gangrel, is there no hope you will listen to reason?" Emmeryn pleaded.

"You mean listen to more of your sanctimonious babble?" Gangrel asked incredulously, before snorting and spitting on the ground. "I think not. The only thing I wish to hear is the*thunk* of arrows hitting your body, and the *splat* when you hit the ground. Take one last look from your perch…you do so enjoy looking down on people…and prepare to meet the ground, and your maker!" He roared angrily, before smiling cruelly and looking back to Chrom. "Unless, that is, _someone_ were to give me the Emblem… _now_."

"Alright, that's enough!" Chrom shouted, before looking to his sister guiltily. "Emm, I've made my decision. _Maybe_ there will be a crisis where _maybe_ we will have needed the Emblem's power…but right now, Ylisse needs _you._ The people need their Exalt… and we need our sister. If those dark days come, we'll face them together."

"…Thank you, Chrom," Emmeryn said, putting on a sad smile. "I know now what I must do."

The words sent a chill down Walter's spine as he finished binding Phila's wounds. She was stable…for now. But Emmeryn couldn't possibly mean…

"Emm?" Chrom asked desperately. "What…"

"Plegians, hear my words!" Emmeryn shouted. Walter looked to where she was gazing, and saw hundreds of civilians and soldiers alike, just watching the events unfold. "War will win you nothing but pain, within your borders and without! Free yourselves from this hatred, from this cycle of pain and vengeance? You wish for my blood? I offer it freely. But let it be the last of it!"

 _God, no!_ Walter thought desperately as Emmeryn began walking forward, closer to the edge of the skull. Ignoring the threat of the Risen in front and the Plegians behind, Chrom dashed forward, panicked, as Emmeryn reached the very edge of the dragon's snout. The Risen themselves were staring, transfixed, as Emmeryn began to lean forward. Chrom was not close enough; he wouldn't even reach the Risen formation before…

The world seemed to move in slow motion as she leaned forward, too far forward, and gravity took hold of her. Walter distantly registered Lissa screaming in horror behind him, Chrom shouting desperately ahead of him. His mind raced, desperate to do _something_ that could save the Exalt, but…there was nothing he could, do, he realized in misery, as Emmeryn neared the ground.

Chrom let out a scream of agony as Emmeryn's drop ended quite suddenly.

"Damn it, no!" Robin shouted in horror behind him, as Chrom and Lissa both broke down into incoherent tears. Walter himself was in numb shock. Emmeryn had sacrificed herself, that much was an objective certainty, yet his mind refused to believe it. Such a force of will could not simply _die_ like that.

"My, how disgustingly noble!" Gangrel's flippant, taunting tone sounded in the relative silence, the sound grating on Walter's ears and flaring his rage. "And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I have never seen one fall so gracefully in fact...and I've seen many fall. Alas, so ends Ylisse's most exalted!" he cried with increasing laughter. "But how will we ensure everyone remembers this beautiful moment of her sacrifice… I know! We should gather up her corpse, and put it on display!" He laughed even harder, doubling over from the force of it. He was the only one laughing, but he didn't seem to care.

His words ignited a fury in Chrom that Walter had never seen before. "Damn you Gangrel! To hell with you! I will send you there myself, you hear me!? You die today!"

"No, boy!" A voice cried out behind him. Walter turned to see Khan Basilio and Khan Flavia forcing their way through the crowd, dozens of Feroxi soldiers behind them. The Plegian soldiers present did nothing to stop them, however; they were standing thunderstruck at the events, and Gangrel's continued mad ranting and laughter. "We have to escape! The Plegian Army is closing in around us, we walked right into their trap!"

Chrom's fury broke as he realized their situation. He looked behind the Risen, who were gathering their wits, and began to turn on the Shepherds, raising weapons. "But…Emm…her body!" he pleaded. "We can't just leave her here!"

"No time boy!" Basilio insited, almost desperate himself. _How dire was the situation outside?_ Walter wondered absently as he held onto Phila's motionless form. "Robin, grab him and let's go!" Robin, his expression crumpled and miserable, did as he was told and seized hold of Chrom's arm.

"Let go of me!" Chrom snapped, thrashing wildly in Robin's grip. "I have to get her body! We have to get her back!" So violent was Chrom's resistance that Frederick had to leave Lissa, who he was trying futilely to console, and grabbed hold of Chrom's other arm. "Let go of me, both of you! We can't just leave her here! Emm!" he cried desperately as the two began dragging him away forcibly.

Walter gently cradled Phila's near-dead body in his arms after replacing her tunic, and followed the Shepherds and the Khans as they all retreated. The Plegians did nothing to stop them, despite Gangrel's very vocal insistence otherwise. Most of them couldn't make eye contact with them; what few could only looked at them in pity and shame. Walter's gut churned in rage and misery as he pushed his way through the crowd, Gangrel's taunts following them the entire way.

They had lost. Emmeryn was dead.

 **AN: Thanks, Anon, for pointing out that I was a dope and posted Chapter 28 twice. The downsides of posting 38 chapters at a time is that sometimes you overlook such trifling details lol. It's more embarrassing for being a major plot point too. You're a sweetheart, Anon, a champion of the people.**


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

 **Flight from Castle Plegia**

"Come on, boy!" Basilio urged Chrom, "The army's holding out past this boneyard! Let's move!"

It had begun raining an hour ago. Just after they'd fled Castle Plegia, in fact. The rain ran heavily down Walter's face and body as he kept trudging along. He had done his best to keep Phila dry in his arms, but there was only so much one could do in such weather…she was in poor health now, shivering violently in her sleep. She was still bleeding, but not as heavily as they had when they'd fled the Castle. He hoped she would make it until they could find someplace dry to properly treat her.

Walter's thoughts weren't solely for Phila's ailing health, however. His other thoughts were currently focused on the Prince…the Exalt now, Walter realized grimly, and the Princess. Lissa was utterly inconsolable; she sat in front of Frederick on his horse, alternating between staring ahead, unresponsive to the world around them, and sobbing hysterically. Chrom, however, worried him far more; the man hadn't spoken a word since they had left the city, just trudging along numbly behind them. His face was emotionless; neither grief, nor rage, nor fear made itself known upon his face; he appeared to be a dead man walking. The rest of the Shepherds were expressing their emotions, whether it be anger or grief, but Chrom said and did nothing besides walk.

The scenery around them was…less than helpful to the mood. There had apparently been a great battle here, long ago, against men and dragons; hundreds of dragon bones jutted from the earth. None nearly so large as the apparent skeleton of the Fell Dragon, but large nonetheless. He had seen Nowi once, staring at the bones miserably and fearfully, whimpering in despair. He supposed he would feel the same, in her situation.

"No!" Basilio cursed. Walter looked forward, and cursed himself; the road was cut off by Plegians; dozens of them, outnumbering the beleaguered Shepherds 3-1, even with wyvern riders in tow. Walter was relieved, however; at their head was Mustafa. If there was a way out of this, he would be able to provide it.

"Halt!" Mustafa ordered as they neared. The Shepherds obliged, hands going to their weapons warily. "I offer you mercy, Ylisseans. Surrender now, and live!"

"Surrender?" Basilio answered hotly, drawing his axe. "I'm afraid I don't know the meaning of the word!"

"Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed," Mustafa pleaded, not drawing his own axe in kind.

"Don't you dare speak her name!" Chrom roared, ripping Falchion from its sheath. Robin started at the sudden vehemence, and barely managed to restrain Chrom as he tried to charge forward. "You don't deserve to speak her name! None of you do! My sister wanted nothing but peace, she cared for you as much as she did her own people, but you Plegian bastards couldn't give her that! The only thing you could give her in kind was death and misery! You bloodthirsty animals! Monsters!"

"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom," Mustafa admitted bitterly as Chrom thrashed against Robin's hold and spat all manner of curses and insults at him. "The meaning of your sister's sacrifice was not lost on me, and I suspect many of the Plegians who heard it feel the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."

"You expect us to trust you, after what your barbarous king has done!?" Frederick roared incredulously, before setting Lissa down off of his horse and hefting his lance. "I think we shall take our chances with weapons in hand!"

"I knew you would say that," Mustafa sighed miserably. "Very well then. Men, try to take them alive, but kill them if you must."

"Sir?" One of the Plegians spoke up as Chrom thrashed even harder against Robin. Everyone present turned to the man, and he flushed under the scrutiny before gathering his resolve. "Damn it, General Mustafa, I can't do this!" he cried. "I can no longer see the justice in hunting these people down. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, but after everything that's happened…I just can't. I'm sorry."

"Fool!" one of the Wyvern riders shouted."How dare you question the General's orders! You know full well the punishment for insubordination is death!"

"But sir!" The soldier protested. "These people are-"

"These questions are not ours to ponder, lad," Mustafa told him sternly. "The soldier does not judge; the soldier delivers judgment."

The Plegian swallowed hard, before casting his lance aside. "I am sorry sir, but I cannot raise my lance against them. Even…even if it means death." Walter was impressed that this soldier had this much resolve, this much strength in his convictions. He had only seen one other soldier like this…and he had hung himself the next morning. Because of him.

"You were there when Emmeryn spoke, weren't you lad?" Mustafa asked quietly. "Who else feels the same? Be honest now!" To Walter's surprise, nearly all the Plegians raised their hands. Even some of the wyvern riders did, though their captain quickly silenced their dissent. "So be it. All who are unwilling to fight are dismissed!" The order shocked everyone present. "But I must remain here, to do what must be done."

"Sir, I… I don't wish to abandon you, sir!" The soldier protested.

"I cannot defy the king, lad," Mustafa said painfully. "I know him well. He would murder my wife and child to make an example. I will accept the blame for your actions here. Now go!" He barked. Walter felt his heart go out to the man. To be caught in such a situation… the gods of this world were truly cruel.

"W-wait sir!" the soldier argued. "I…I know a cause I can fight for. Loyalty to my General."

"…Aye, that's a good lad," Mustafa replied with a sad, almost broken smile. He turned back to the Ylisseans. "But that will not be necessary. I challenge the Prince to single combat! If he wins, the Ylisseans are to be allowed to pass unmolested!" He said, glaring pointedly at the wyvern captain. "If I win, you are to surrender. Do you accept these terms?"

"Done!" Chrom shouted, before slugging Robin across the face with his free hand; he had dropped Falchion in the struggle. Robin, stunned by the blow, released Chrom. Chrom in turn seized Falchion from the mud, and charged furiously at Mustafa. Mustafa barely brought his axe out in time to block the first blow, and remained on the defensive from there.

Walter felt his spine run cold as he watched the two duel. Chrom's fury left Mustafa several glaring openings, but the man refused to take advantage of them. Mustafa's face was a grimace of concentration and…pity? Chrom, however, held no such reservations; he slashed and cleaved at Mustafa with the fury of a man possessed, every blow of Falchion's blade ringing loudly in the silence. For several minutes the duel went on like that; Mustafa barely fighting back and Chrom determined to end him.

The duel ended suddenly and abruptly; Mustafa's foot slipped in the mud, and he was brought to one knee as his leg gave out from under him. Seeing the opening, Chrom leapt forward, plunging his blade into Mustafa's chest.

"W-well done," Mustafa forced out, coughing up some blood in the process. "P-please… spare my men…" Chrom viciously ripped Falchion out of his chest, kicking the man off of his blade. Mustafa fell into the mud, choking on his own blood.

"Kill them," Chrom growled furiously. Walter's blood ran cold. _What did he just say?_ Chrom looked toward them at the lack of motion and his face twisted in fury. "I said _kill them_!" he roared. "Kill them all! Not one Plegian leaves this place alive! Do it n-!" he was cut off by a large lightning bolt striking his chest. He let out a cry of agony, before slumping to the ground, unconscious. Walter whirled in shock to see Robin shaking the residual lightning out of his hand a miserable expression on his face.

"Frederick, get Chrom," Robin ordered tiredly. "We've had enough bloodshed for today." Without waiting for a response, he began walking toward the Plegians. They parted, almost shamefully, as Robin passed them by. Even the wyvern captain didn't raise his weapon. A second later, Frederick walked his horse forward and placed Chrom upon it, before leading them past the Plegians. Soon the rest of the Shepherds followed.

Walter was the last one through; he stopped by Mustafa. The man was still alive, though barely; he was choking on his own blood, what little was left in his body.

"N-not his…fault," Mustafa choked out. Walter nodded; Chrom was simply heartbroken, enraged, grieving; he would never have ordered them to do that otherwise. "Gangrel…Gangrel did…this. Stop…him."

"I will, Mustafa," Walter said respectfully, dropping to one knee, Phila's unconscious form still in his arms. Despite his exhaustion, he channeled what little energy he had left into a healing spell, and cast it on Mustafa. The man's chest closed, somewhat, but still remained open. The bleeding stemmed, though whether from blood loss or healing Walter could not say. He still doubted Mustafa would live; but he had at least given him a chance. Mustafa smiled briefly, mouthing his thanks, and passed out. Walter was unsure if he would ever wake up, but he had done what he could. He then stood straight and walked past the still-shocked Plegians, following the rest of the Shepherds.

000

"Report!" General Thorne barked as they entered the main Army's camp an hour later, Walter at their head. Walter had passed Phila off to a lovely young woman named Olivia, who promised she could at least keep her alive until Walter could treat her later (or at least that's what Walter had gathered past her shy stuttering and furious blushing), and had reported to General Thorne, as Chrom had last ordered. "What the bloody hell happened? One minute we were besieging Castle Plegia, the next we're being ordered to retreat!? The gates were broken! We had the Plegians dead to rights, reinforcements or not! What in the nine hells!?"

Walter struggled to keep his face neutral; the last thing he needed was this maniac's belligerence. "The Exalt sacrificed herself to save Prince Chrom," Walter told him bluntly. "You know full well that we were not there to besiege the castle, but to save Lady Emmeryn. With that objective…failed…we were forced to retreat."

"Dead Exalt or not, we had Gangrel!" Thorne roared. His irreverence immediately sent Walter's blood boiling; Emmeryn had been murdered, and he was so flippant about it!? "We bloody had him! He had fewer men inside the walls than we had outside, and the gates were breached! He was cornered! We could have ended this war today! Hells, I've half a mind to go right back there and finish the job! But no, Phila succumbs to her wounds, and we retreat! We retreat, because our dear _Exalted_ Prince can't control his emotions, and- urf!"

Walter had lost his patience, and struck the man in the stomach. The unarmored general buckled over in pain as Walter stood over him. "General Thorne," Walter said imperiously, "I am under authority from Prince Chrom himself to ensure that you follow the order to retreat. If you do not comply, I will be forced to relieve you of your command. If you resist, I _will_ kill you." Walter ignored the stunned gasps of the troops around him; he did not care for them right now.

Thorne quickly recovered himself and stood up again, his face twisting up in rage. "Why, you upstart, worthless, son of a-" his protests were cut off as Walter struck him across the jaw this time, and Walter stepped on the man's chest as he fell to the ground on his back. He drew his mace, and pointed it dangerously at Thorne.

"I am formally relieving you of command," Walter stated simply. "You are under arrest for insubordination and crimes against the Plegian people. You two!" He barked, pointing to two nearby guards who jumped in surprise at being addressed. "Bind him, and throw him in with whatever other prisoners of war we have!" The two men glanced at each other nervously, before shrugging and seizing either of the man's arms.

"I will see you dead for this!" Thorne roared, his words slightly slurred by his clearly broken jaw. "I will swing the headsman's axe myself, you mongrel! You have no right to do this!"

"Whatever," Walter spat, walking away as the soldiers began dragging General Thorne away.

"Was…was that wise?" a voice asked behind him. He turned to see Maribelle, of all people, standing there, shuffling nervously. "Prince Chrom's orders or not, General Thorne is a very powerful man, Walter," she warned. "Even I would not wish to make an enemy of him. I doubt very much he will remain incarcerated when we return to Ylisstol."

"What's done is done," Walter replied simply. "Come with me, Maribelle. Captain Phila yet lives, but her situation is most dire. I would also ask for the Princess, but…"

"Yes," Maribelle replied, "my treasure is quite aggrieved at the moment. I would desire nothing more than to be there, comforting her, but if Phila's life is in danger…"

"Go, comfort the Princess," a calm voice said beside them. It was the blonde woman, from Castle Plegia. "I am a priest of much experience; I can surely aid this man, perhaps even better than you."

"Oh, gods bless you, Libra," Maribelle said with relief. "Yes, I will go see to the Princess. If you require my aid, do not hesitate to call upon me." With that, she hurried off in the direction of she had last seen the other Shepherds walking in.

"Libra, was it?" Walter asked the woman. She nodded. "It is a pleasure to meet a woman of the cloth, differing religions aside. Shall we see to Captain Phila?"

"Of course," Libra replied sheepishly, before clearing his throat. "But I am a man of the cloth, a priest, not a woman. Women are clerics. Well, I am technically a war monk," he finished, gesturing to the axe at his belt.

Walter's mind went blank. "You're…a man?" he asked incredulously. Libra's voice was so feminine, his hair so lustrous, he was obviously…no, now that Walter looked more closely, he could see it. His jaw line was far too strong and pronounced, his shoulders too broad, his body language and posture entirely masculine. He was the most feminine and frankly beautiful man Walter had ever seen, but a man nonetheless.

"Yes, though you are far from the first to make such a mistake," Libra said lightly. "Our own Prince had much the same reaction. Lord Virion has already made several advances toward me, but I could not get in a word edgewise to inform him of my true gender."

Walter raised an eyebrow; of course Virion would hit on him. Of _course_ he would. "I see," Walter said with more humor than he thought he could muster at the moment. "Well, I apologize for the mistake."

"It is no trouble, Sir Walter," Libra replied, his tone still light and almost mirthful. "Come, let us see to the patient. I was speaking with Olivia before this, and was on my way to the medical tents to treat her myself." And so Libra led him through the virtual city of tents. Walter was no stranger to large army camps, but still would have found himself lost if left to his own devices; the Ylissean method of camp organization made no sense to him.

About ten minutes later, Libra led him into one of the dozens of medical tents, and Walter frowned in concern as he gazed upon Phila. He had done his best to bandage her in the field, but the wounds were still grievous; the Risens' strength had caused the arrows to dig far deeper than they would have been had a living man fired them, and he had had to dig deep to remove them.

Libra led him over to the table, where Olivia stood, grabbing a handful of bandages. "Miss Olivia?" he asked.

Olivia squeaked in surprise, jumping and nearly dropping the bandages before she turned around, blushing furiously. "I-I'm so sorry, Libra," Olivia stuttered, "I-I was so f-focused on Captain P-Phila that I didn't hear you come in!"

"It is quite alright, dear," Libra responded peacefully, "it is good that you mind your patient so well. Walter and I are here now, however, so you need not fret so much."

Olivia blushed even deeper (Walter began to wonder if her blushing would result in a damaged blood vessel in her face), before curtseying to them both. "O-of course," She stated."I will take my leave."

"By all means, stay," Walter told her. His strong voice startled Olivia terribly, and nearly caused her to drop the bandages again. He lowered his voice as he continued speaking. "We will require someone to retrieve medical supplies, and leaving the tent ourselves would not be preferable."

"Y-yes, milord," Olivia stuttered nervously, averting her gaze. "I'm h-here to help!"

"Thank you," he said earnestly, causing her to turn a shade of red that Walter didn't even think should be possible in a human being. That _couldn't_ be healthy.

"Were there any back injuries?" Libra asked as they moved over to the medical cot Phila was on and he began examining the wounds.

"Nothing new," Walter replied, "but she had received several arrow wounds at Ylisstol, and had survived a poisoning attempt that exacerbated them." Libra rolled Phila gently onto her side to check the wounds, and gasped loudly.

"In Naga's name," he gasped in horror. "These wounds are horrendous! How did she survive them at all?"

"It looks far worse than it is," Walter supplied. "It simply looks that way because of the way my healing magic works."

Libra raised his eyebrow. "What manner of magic do you use that does…this?" he gestured distastefully.

"Bersian holy magic," Walter responded, receiving a blank look in return. "Come, I will show you."

Libra gently set Phila back onto her back, and Walter moved to her and uncovered her torso, and moved to one of the arrow wounds on her stomach; this particular arrow had been fired with such force that it had punctured the armor, and had dug far deeper than the others. Walter quickly set some spare rags across Phila's chest; he knew how much she preferred her modesty, and would prefer to avoid the backlash later for not taking any precautions to preserve it. As Walter worked to close the wounds, he explained to Libra what he was doing, how, and why. Thankfully, his vast experience as a healer, far beyond Lissa's or Maribelle's, allowed him to easily grasp the ideas Walter was imparting.

As Walter finished, Libra was actually grinning. "This is fantastic!" he cried. "The healing magic I was taught cannot close wounds like this; not unless the body could heal them naturally. I have been forced to allow so many to pass unto Naga's grace because of injuries, like these, that I could not heal. Sir Walter, you _must_ teach me everything you know!"

Walter chuckled at Libra's almost childlike expression of wonder and excitement. "Very well, Libra," he responded. "The lessons begin now." For the next hour, he walked Libra through the basics of Bersian holy magic. He was pleased to see the man quickly acclimatize to using it; Lissa and Maribelle's pace had been remarkable, but they were still only novices; but with Libra, Walter was sure that within a couple of months, he could have the man up to his own standards. Olivia proved herself quite useful; while not a cleric by any means, she was quite familiar with conventional healing methods, and needed little instruction.

Several hours later, Walter dropped himself down on a nearby stool in exhaustion. The day's events, and the effort it took to stabilize and partially heal Phila's extensive wounds, had left him utterly drained.

"She is stable, for now," Walter stated tiredly. "It even appears she will fully recover."

"It's borderline miraculous," Libra agreed, his own tiredness evident in his voice as he sat himself down on another stool, "but she will indeed live."

"Unless…" Walter frowned. The last time the assassin had tried to kill her, it had been after her injuries at the Battle of Ylisstol. "I will have a guard placed on her at all times," he said, in response to Libra's curious gaze.

"Is that…necessary?" Libra asked.

"I told you she was poisoned," Walter explained. "An apothecary handed her the poison, and told her it was medicine. I doubt the apothecary was the one who wanted her dead; he was simply an intermediary. Someone powerful, with enough money to purchase rare poisons from across the sea, wants her dead." And Walter had his suspicions of who it might be, but…it made no sense. "There is a good chance that her assassin knows her personally, meaning he is likely an officer of some sort. They may be in this army, even now."

"By the gods," Libra gasped. "Who would wish such a thing on her? I do not know her personally, but she is famous across Ylisstol, being the Commander of the Pegasus Knights and the late Exalt's personal guard. The people adore her; the concept of someone wishing her ill is almost inconceivable."

"I have my suspicions, but I will not speak of them here," Walter replied gravely. "Nonetheless, I will be organizing a guard routine with whoever will volunteer."

"I do," Libra supplied. Walter looked at him in surprise. "I do wield this axe, Sir Walter; I am no helpless priest. I will guard her life as if it were my own."

Walter nodded thankfully. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Libra. I will take my leave now, and have the next guard I can find report to you after nightfall. Let no one enter this tent that is not a Shepherd, Olivia excepted. May the Lord be with you, Libra."

"And may Naga's light guide you, Sir Walter," Libra replied in kind, before turning to Phila and adjusting her bandages. Walter took his leave then, and set off across the camp, looking for the other Shepherds. He would trust nobody outside of them with Phila's safety; he could not afford to.

His epiphany still roiled in his mind, however. The two had served together for years, and by Phila's account, had been "close". It was unlikely, but…who else could have the resources, the connection, and the will to murder Phila? Who else would reach the conclusion that she succumbed to old wounds instead of sustaining new ones?

Who else could it be, but General Thorne?


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

 **Return to Ylisstol**

"Where am I?" she said. Walter jumped in surprise; Phila hadn't awoken for the entire three weeks it had taken to move the Army back to Ylisse; her wounds were still quite severe. The Plegian Army had left them curiously untouched, but he hadn't looked that gift horse in the mouth. Since then, Phila had almost fully recovered; she had several scars on her front, and her back was almost entirely scar tissue, but she was as well as she ever was. For three weeks on the road and three days in a bed in the Palace's medical ward, she was doing remarkably well.

"You are in Ylisstol," he finally answered, relief flooding his voice. "We retreated back across the border after leaving Castle Plegia."

"Castle Plegia…Lady Emmeryn!" Phila cried in fear, shooting into a sitting position, nearly headbutting Walter as he was examining her wounds. He nearly fell out of his stool trying to evade it. She cried in pain as her wounds flared, but remained sitting upright.

"Is the Exalt safe?" Phila asked desperately, ignoring the pain of her wounds as she gripped Walter's shoulders like a vice. Walter simply squeezed his eyes shut and looked away; he could not bear to tell her. "Walter, is Emmeryn alive?" She pleaded.

"She…she sacrificed herself," Walter admitted, his voice low and miserable, refusing to meet Phila's wide eyes. "Gangrel threatened her life with the Risen archers that wounded you, in order to get Prince Chrom to surrender the Emblem. Emmeryn chose to die, rather than allow the Emblem to fall into Gangrel's hands… she leapt from the dragon's skull by her own will."

"Leave me," Phila commanded coldly after several impossibly long seconds of silence.

Walter's gaze snapped back to Phila; she had a blank look on her face. "Captain Phila?" he asked quietly.

"I said _leave me!_ " Phila screamed, her face coming alive with fury, pushing Walter with enough strength to topple the stool. He crashed to the ground, hard, and the air escaped from his lungs. "Get out!" Phila roared.

"Phila," Walter said consolingly as he stood back up, "I can't-"

"Get! OUT!" She screamed, picking up the knife from the medical tray and hurling it at Walter. He ducked desperately away from the blade, and began scrambling away as she hurled more utensils at him. He barely managed to stand and close the door before the stool itself crashed into it. Through the door, he heard Phila give a strangled cry of misery, before he could hear terrible sobs. Walter contemplated going back in; she was clearly beyond upset, but Walter had no clue of what to say. He thought it better not to risk it.

"She took that well," Gaius said from his position leaning on the wall. He was on the guard rotation for Phila right now, and was glancing at the door worriedly.

"How did you think she would take it!?" Walter snapped. Gaius looked shocked, and Walter's face turned red in shame. "I apologize, Gaius. It is not your fault."

"Ain't nobody's fault," Gaius replied easily. "Except maybe Gangrel's."

"Yes," Walter growled. "And he will pay dearly for it."

"I'm right there with ya, Old Cat," Gaius responded with surprising vehemence. "The Exalt is the only reason I never faced the headsman's axe," he explained in answer to Walter's silent question. "She was a good person, especially for a blueblood. Ain't right, what Gangrel did, and if Chrom don't stick him with that fancy butter knife of his…" he opened his cloak to reveal his impressive collection of throwing weapons, "then I've got thirty-two knives with his name on them."

Walter grinned grimly at Gaius. "You'll have to get in line, I'm afraid. I doubt even that woman, Tharja, doesn't wish to give Gangrel his justice."

Gaius' face turned pale at the mention of Tharja. "I see you've already run into the madwoman," Walter said with amusement.

"Yeah, never thought I'd see her again," Gaius said quietly, so much so that Walter almost doubted he heard him. "Kind wish I hadn't either, she's only gotten worse."

"You know that devil-woman?" Walter asked in shock.

"Yeah, I met her a…long time ago," he said evasively. "Around the same time I met Red-er, Cordelia."

Walter raised an eyebrow; he would believe that Tharja would associate herself with thieves and brigands, but Cordelia as well? "How did you meet them?"

"Long story, personal details, that sort of thing," Gaius replied in a tone that was flippant, yet obviously showed he wasn't willing to discuss it.

"I see," Walter replied. He gazed sadly at the door to Phila's room; her sobbing could still be heard. "Speaking of Cordelia, would you be willing to find her? She and Captain Phila are close; if anyone can console her, it is Cordelia."

"Yeah, sure Old Cat," Gaius said casually, walking away. _Old Cat?_ Walter wondered. _I thought he called me "Chuckles"? I'm not sure which I prefer._

Twenty minutes passed with Walter standing awkwardly outside of Phila's door; her sobbing persisted the entire time. It broke Walter's heart to see such a strong woman brought so low. Just another of the many crimes Gangrel would answer for.

He was relieved to see Cordelia and Gaius round the corner shortly thereafter. Walter noted curiously that they were speaking in a language he could not recognize, their body language oddly relaxed, and their tones almost happy. There was little doubt in his mind that they were truly old acquaintances, if not friends, and Walter wondered how they had ever met.

"How is she?" Cordelia asked nervously in the common tongue as she approached the door.

"Doing poorly," Walter responded gravely. "She did not take the news of the Exalt's death well. I was hoping you might be able to console her."

"Lady Emmeryn was quite dear to her," Cordelia responded nervously, "and I am unaccustomed to providing comfort, but I will do what I can." Walter nodded in thanks, and moved to allow Cordelia entry.

"This is some heavy stuff," Gaius sighed after several awkward minutes as he leaned back against the wall. "I almost miss being a thief."

"'Almost'?" Walter asked. "You do not miss your carefree life, living outside the bounds of the law?"

"Not really," Gaius stated honestly. "I mean, yeah all the rules and regs grate on me, but it beats being hauled before the magistrate or spending most of my time hiding in the wild. Hells, I even get paid, and all the sweets I could want… even if that's what all my pay is going to."

The mention of being hauled before the magistrate sparked something in Walter's memory. "I have been meaning to ask…what is your history with Maribelle?" Walter asked seriously. Gaius' face paled. "She warned me against you, and her reasons seemed valid. But I know Chrom is no fool, and would not let someone so unscrupulous remain around, especially after breaking into his own Treasury."

Gaius sighed. "Yeah, Maribelle thinks she has the right of it," he responded. "She don't know the whole story, though. Truth be told, I've been meaning to tell her, but every time I try to talk to her, it ends with her screaming obscenities or trying to impale me on that parasol of hers. Still, I don't regret saving her life."

Walter raised his eyebrow at that. "You saved her life?"

"Yeah," Gaius explained, assuming the demeanor that people got right before they began a long story. "I got hired for the Treasury job through an agent. The pay was _huge_ and I was also told to loot whatever I felt like looting in addition to the Regalia. Deal was too sweet to pass up; there's a truly ridiculous amount of gold in that vault."

"What are the 'Regalia'?" Walter questioned.

"Really old, really powerful weapons," Gaius summarized succinctly. "There's a bow called Parthia, a sword called Mercurius, and a lance called Gradivus. Super powerful, enchanted weapons, been around since Anri, Chrom's oldest ancestor. Anyway, my client wanted them. I don't know who he was, or why he wanted them, but those ain't the sort of things a man of my profession asks his client, yeah? I could probably give a couple of guesses, but…anyway, short story is, I got caught, and hauled before the magistrate. Didn't even get inside the vault before the guards were on me. They knew I had a client, and…well, you look like you know how interrogations go." Walter grimaced; he'd even partaken in a couple himself. "Between two of my 'interviews' I was visited by an agent of my client. He told me to name Duke Themis as my benefactor, or he'd kill the Duke's daughter." Walter reeled in shock. "I hadn't met her, hadn't even seen her before in my life. Hell, I've only been to Themis twice; the guard there is a pain to work around, Duke Themis knows his stuff. But I figured, she's just a young girl, she don't deserve to die for that, you know? Well, my next 'interview' I told them what my client said to tell them."

"I understand now," Walter said. Maribelle must not know any of that; she would not be so hateful of the man. "But Duke Themis yet lives, and nobody has mentioned anything of a prison sentence. What happened next?"

"The Exalt happened," Gaius replied. "She didn't believe a word of my 'confession', and came down to see me herself while the Guard arrested Duke Themis. No guards except Captain Phila. Brave of her. Anyway, she asks me for the full story. Despite my gut telling me not to trust a blueblood, she looked like a sweet enough lady, so I told her everything I knew; the name of my contact, the target of the heist, the threat to Twinkles. She just nodded, pardoned me on the spot, and opened the cell that instant." Walter's eyebrows shot up in surprise; Emmeryn had really done that? "I, of course, booked it outta there as fast as my scrawny legs could carry me. Took enough time to write a letter with the truth on it, for all their formal hoo-hah, and left it with one of the guards on the way out. They presented that letter in the last hearing before Old Man Themis got the axe, and he was set free. I spent the next few months hiding from my client's goon squad, but everyone made it out alive."

Walter nodded in acceptance. That filled in the missing gaps in Maribelle's account perfectly. "You should really talk to her about this," Walter insisted. "If nothing else, Maribelle needs to know."

"Yeah, I'd love to Old Cat," Gaius said sarcastically, "but the last time I tried, she tried to stab me. As much as I'd love to bury that hatchet, I'd like not to get it buried in my head, you get me?"

"I will talk to her," Walter told him. Gaius' eyebrow shot up. "I will try to at least convince her to not resort to violence. I would like to think she respects me and considers me a friend; I could surely at least give you the opportunity."

"You'd do that, Old Cat?" Walter nodded, a small smile on his face. Gaius' default bored expression broke into a wide grin. "Well, damn if I wasn't wrong about you! I didn't think too much of ya, truth be told, after telling Chrom to just kill me and be done with it, but this more'n makes up for it. I owe ya one. You ain't too bad… for a blueblood."

"You owe me nothing," Walter said humbly. "Maribelle deserves the truth to be known. You do as well, despite my distaste for your…profession."

Their conversation was cut short as the door to Phila's room opened; Cordelia stood there, a neutral look on her face. "Captain Phila wishes to speak with you, Sir Walter," She said softly. Walter nodded and entered the room as Cordelia exited, shutting the door behind him.

He picked up the stool from where it lay by the door and brought it over, sitting down on it next to her bed. Phila was staring distantly out the window, still sitting upright.

"I am sorry, Sir Walter," Phila said without preamble. "I should not have lost my temper with you. I was…it just…"

"I know," Walter responded softly, placing his hand briefly on her shoulder. She didn't look away from the window, but deflated slightly. "You said the Exalt was dear to you, and I understand the pain you must feel, having learned of her sacrifice."

"Sacrifice," Phila echoed wistfully. "She always was such a selfless young woman. Do you know how many nights I stood by her side as she toiled to bring prosperity to Ylisse, Walter? For years on end, she would sacrifice every facet of her life to help bring Ylisstol back from where her father had pushed it. She socialized as much as was required for a woman of her station, but nothing more. She skipped so many meals, declined so many invitations to parties and feasts and the like. For the first eight years of her reign, she denied any birthday celebrations, saying they were a waste of time and money in a halidom in desperate need of both. To hear a child of nine say such things!... She practically lived in her office; several times I suggested she simply move her desk into her chambers to save herself some time." Phila laughed softly, sadly. "She even considered it seriously several times. But she sacrificed her entire life for Ylisse, Walter." She sighed. "She even forswore finding a husband, claiming that she could not afford the time for romance or even just strict courtship to produce an heir. 'Ylisse is the love of my life, I've no need for a husband' she would say. 'If I pass before I bear children, then there is yet Chrom's bloodline, and Lissa's; the future of the Exalted Line is secured and my time is better spent on more important matters', she told me once." Phila shook her head sadly. "Emmeryn deserved more. I would always tell her as much, but she would have nothing of it. Sacrifice was her life, and her burden. Yet she bore such a burden with a smile, and love for Ylisse and its people."

"She was the greatest ruler I have ever had the pleasure of serving under," Walter answered honestly. "The world is lesser for her loss."

"Indeed it is," Phila answered somberly. "What do I do now, Walter?" She asked, her tone lost. "My life since the military has revolved around Lady Emmeryn, but now she is gone. I swore that I would die for her, that I would give my life a thousand times over before one hair on her head was harmed…then she goes and sacrifices her life for Ylisse as I lay bleeding on the earth, leaving me behind…I have no purpose now," she admitted painfully. "I almost wish you had let me pass unto Naga's grace. Living is too difficult, without Emmeryn."

Walter was lost as to what to say for a second, before Panne's words to him almost a month prior floated into his head. "You can keep Emmeryn's ideals alive, and continue to serve Ylisse," Walter told her. "You said Ylisse was Emmeryn's greatest love, and it yet lives and breathes, even if she does not. Carry Emmeryn's torch forward; serve the halidom, work to bring it peace and prosperity." He then reached and pulled gently on Phila's shoulder, turning her to look directly at him. He met her questioning gaze with the most serious one he could muster. "And if I were to let you die, I would be doing both the halidom, and Emmeryn herself, a disservice. As the world is lesser for Emmeryn's loss, so would it be for your own. Do not think yourself so worthless. Emmeryn would not tolerate such talk, and neither will I." Phila looked away, almost looking ashamed, and Walter cleared his throat. "Now, speaking of the matter of your life and health, may I continue examining your wounds? You have healed remarkably well, but there is yet work to be done. I was roughly halfway done before you woke up."

"Yes, I suppose there is work to be done," Phila sighed, laying back down onto the bed with a grunt of pain. The rest of Walter's examination and treatment passed in silence.

"That is that, then," Walter said with finality as he stood again. "The need for healing magic is past; your body can take it from here. I will still stop by once daily to examine your wounds and bring you your midday meal, but simple vulnerary should be all you require." He remembered the poison she'd been slipped, and spoke further. "Take nothing that I, nor the war monk Libra, did not give you," he warned. "We could not find the apothecary who poisoned you, and I yet fear they will try again. We also have a guard on you at all hours; currently it is the thief Gaius, and I believe Virion is next on the rotation, which will change when the evening meal arrives. If you believe something is amiss, call for them."

Phila grimaced. "Can you ensure I'm properly covered while Virion is on shift?" Phila asked. "I fear if I have to suffer that philanderer leering at me, you will have two patients to attend to instead of one."

Walter chuckled "I would not worry about that, if I were you. Lord Virion has suffered great embarrassment at Libra's hands, and has become more…withdrawn of late. You will see what I mean when Libra brings you your evening meal. Get some rest, Captain."

"Thank you Walter," Phila said tiredly; Walter could tell the day's events had drained her. She would be asleep shortly. "You are far kinder than one would expect from a man of your demeanor."

Walter nodded at the compliment. "I am trying to live up to my son's expectations of me. An impossible task, to be certain, but all I can do is try." Phila mumbled something unintelligible in return, and was soon asleep. Walter pushed himself to his feet (he felt he was getting far too old for all this; his knee popped most uncomfortably) and exited the room.

Cordelia had already left, but Gaius remained at his station. "Ensure nobody enters without the proper authorization," he told him. "I trust you know the procedure?"

"Yeah, secret passwords, signed documents, all that jazz," Gaius answered. "A bit much, I gotta say. You'd think we're protecting royalty or something." He then winced as he realized how…inappropriate his joke was, given recent events, but Walter let it slide. The man was like Robin, blithe by nature. He knew he meant know harm by it.

"If her assassin is who I believe it is," Walter said gravely, "I fear this may not be enough."

"You got an idea of who's trying to kill the Old Hawk?" Gaius said, surprised. "I thought we didn't have any leads?"

"I cannot say for certain," Walter clarified. "And I will not name him until I have spoken to the Prince about it, but suffice it to say he is a man of much power and wealth. I do believe I'll have need of your…particular talents in the near future." He sincerely hoped that Chrom would come out of his self-imposed isolation soon; the war, and the matter of General Thorne, required his attention, sooner rather than later.

Gaius raised his eyebrow. "Cashing in that favor already, eh? I may not be friends with the Old Hawk, but I don't hate her either, and she's one of us. Was never one for all that camaraderie stuff before joining up with Blue, but it gives this certain…warm, fuzzy feeling that no amount of candy can quite provide. So yeah, count me in."

"Thank you," Walter replied gratefully, before striding back down the corridor, ready to once again request an audience with Prince Chrom.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 **Renewal**

"Chrom, I'm sorry," Robin blurted out as the Prince entered the room the next day, not giving anyone a chance to speak. Frederick, Walter, Lissa, Sumia, the Khans, and Robin had all been called together once Chrom announced he was ready to be seen. "I'm sorry for striking you down at the Boneyard, and I'm… I'm sorry I failed you. My plan wasn't nearly enough. I failed you, and I will never feel any greater shame."

Chrom walked slowly and silently over to Robin, stopping directly in front of him. Robin dropped his eyes in shame, and was thus unprepared when Chrom punched him in the face. Robin grunted in pain and fell onto the table.

"How. Dare. You?" Chrom growled, pulling the tactician into the air by the scruff of his neck.

"I know I deserve this, Chrom," Robin said, lowly, shamefully, "but I-"

Chrom punched him again. "I won't allow you to act like this!" Chrom roared. Walter flinched in surprise and turned his gaze downward; it seemed that Chrom's rage hadn't faltered any. Had Emmeryn's death left him like this for good? "I won't allow you to just…take all the blame for this!" He yelled. Walter looked up in shock. "You did everything right, you self-deprecating bastard!" he punched Robin again. "You couldn't have possibly known Aversa could summon Risen. Your plan was flawless! It worked perfectly, even better than expected because of the absence of the wyvern riders, until that damned woman interfered! You did everything right. And when everything went wrong, and I was lost in my rage, you did what you had to!" his voice dropped in shame. "I remember what I said, as I stood over Mustafa's body. Do you know how miserable I am, thinking about that?" He asked Robin, who was now recovering from his daze. He set the man down gently. "It's tearing me up, Robin. That's not who I am, that's not who I want to be. I sounded more like Gangrel than myself in that moment and I know it. And what did you do? You kept me from making the biggest mistake of my life. As miserable as I am now, I would have been ten times worse, had you not stopped me." Robin looked at him, stupefied, before Chrom embraced him. "Thank you for that."

Lissa and Sumia "aww'd", and the Khans broke out in raucous laughter. Even Walter found himself chuckling, and Frederick was smiling proudly. As Chrom released Robin, Walter noted with even more amusement that Robin was once again dazed, but not from being punched.

"Now, onto business," Chrom stated as Robin collapsed back into his chair, utterly dumbfounded. And perhaps dizzy; Chrom had struck him rather hard. "I plan on addressing the rest of the Shepherds shortly, but first I need to know where we stand. Khan Flavia, would you mind starting?"

Walter listened intently as Flavia outlined the state of both of their armies; Walter was surprised. The Feroxi army had taken only light casualties in the fighting outside the castle, and the Ylissean army only slightly more. By all reports, they were ready to move out on a moment's notice.

"Frederick?" Chrom asked next. Frederick gave an almost frighteningly detailed account of most of the Shepherds general mental and physical preparedness, barring the members currently present; and Walter had no doubt that Frederick had dossiers prepared on them as well, but was simply holding back for the sake of decorum. It would be rude to make assertions about what someone was thinking or feeling right in front of them, no matter how unnervingly accurate the assertions were.

"Robin?" Chrom asked next.

"Well, I might have suffered some brain damage from you using me as a punching bag, so I might be forgetting something," Robin grumbled sourly through his swollen jaw as he pulled out a stack of documents, much to the others' amusement. "Yeah, laugh it up guys," Robin muttered, which only caused them to laugh harder. "I've compiled the scouts' reports, but they're all pretty conflicting; I can't give you an accurate read on what Gangrel is up to until tomorrow, when Cordelia returns with her own report. From what I can gather, there's some level of unrest in Plegia, though how or why I cannot say."

"I'll look at those reports later," Chrom promised, before turning to Walter. "Sir Walter?" he asked. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," Walter said gravely. "I believe I have a suspect in the attempted assassination of Captain Phila."

Chrom's face turned deathly serious. "Explain."

And so Walter explained everything he had pieced together. Everyone present was shocked.

"Are you sure of this?" Chrom asked, his tone grave.

"Not entirely," Walter admitted. "It is our best lead at the moment, however. I have already ironed out the details of an…information gathering mission. I require only your leave to start."

"Someone's been busy," Frederick noted. "You spend much of your time caring for Captain Phila, yet still find the time to participate in court intrigue?"

"I also assist Donnel with his training after your calisthenics in the morning and conduct the rites required by my faith," Walter stated in a deadpan tone, eliciting laughter from Lissa and Sumia. "I was a noble myself once, Sir Frederick, in addition to a soldier and an anointed priest. I have spent most of my life involving myself in court intrigue, willingly or not."

"A valid point," Frederick conceded, grinning ever so slightly. "We could all learn from your work ethic," he said, gazing at the Khans pointedly. Khan Flavia in particular.

"Look, big guy, you don't _want_ me to bring Feroxi politics down here," she stated jovially. "I doubt Chrom would take kindly to me challenging most of his court to mortal combat within a day," she chortled. "It might almost be challenging if I fought them all at once, though," she said contemplatively. Basilio snorted derisively, before laughing himself.

"Alright, alright, is there anything else?" Chrom asked the room at large. Nobody spoke up, and so Chrom dismissed them, with orders to gather up the other Shepherds and meet in the barracks' common room.

"I am afraid I must tend to Captain Phila," Walter said as the others began filing out. Sumia shot him a look he couldn't quite understand and giggled as she walked by, causing Walter to frown.

"I understand," Chrom stated, before grinning. "I hear you spend a lot of time with her," Chrom pointed out in a sly tone.

"And I hear you spend much of your limited free time with young Sumia, yet neither of you can claim to be healer or patient," Walter shot back at Chrom's clear accusation. The young prince turned a rather bright shade of red. "In fact, she came to me this morning, complaining of feeling ill in the morning and needing to relieve herself far more frequently than usual. I immediately referred her to the Princess for medical care. I am trained in such…feminine matters, but women normally prefer the company of women for such things. Lissa should be examining her later this evening, but I doubt that I am incorrect in my guesses."

"You don't mean…" Chrom said, his face turning so white that Walter wouldn't have been surprised if the prince had simply become transparent.

"I do," Walter replied with a chuckle, before walking over and clapping his hand on the Prince's shoulder. "Congratulations, Prince Chrom. You are going to be a father, if I'm not mistaken. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a wounded soldier to tend to." Grinning like a madman, and enjoying the aghast look on Chrom's face, he strode out of the conference room.

Walter would normally have disapproved of Chrom's…haste in bedding the young Pegasus knight, but he could not bring himself to do so, not with Chrom's current mental state. He had endured so much lately; could he really be faulted for seeking comfort in loving arms? The young man clearly cared for the woman, at least, and was honorable enough to ask for her hand in marriage quite soon, if he was not prepared to do so already, in order to preserve her honor.

Walter was still grinning madly as he approached Phila's room. To his surprise, Tharja was the one standing guard this time, not Sully as he would have expected; he wouldn't have thought the woman would volunteer.

"This is a surprise," he stated honestly as he neared the brooding young woman. "Such an act of compassion seems…outside of your realm of interest."

Tharja shot him a deadly glare. "I'm only here to get out of the stupid meeting in the barracks. The Prince is just going to give some sappy speech, everyone's going to spit whatever corny lines appear in their tiny little brains, and it's going to be one big happy family." She blew a raspberry. "As dull as this job is, there's the slight chance the assassin will try to attack now. And I've been wanting to test this new hemorrhaging curse I devised, but Prince Chrom is quite adamant about me not experimenting with such dangerous curses on any of his subjects. He wishes that I wouldn't do it at all, but… well, what's a bloody nose or a little cough to him, right?"

Walter frowned. "Of course," he stated dryly. "Why would I believe you had altruistic motives?"

"Why indeed?" Tharja asked mockingly. "Though, I will miss the opportunity to see Robin…"

Walter grimaced. The woman had become obsessed with the young tactician, far beyond the point of being healthy. He had heard she followed him like a shadow when not otherwise occupied, and there were even rumors that she watched him sleep.

"Have you ever considered simply talking to the man?" Walter stated bluntly. "Instead of haunting his steps like some dark spirit?"

"Have you ever considered minding your own business?" Tharja snapped back, before taking a contemplative look. "Do you think that would work?"

"At this point, I am not sure," Walter said distastefully, "but it will certainly be more effective than unnerving the man by emulating whatever dark spirits you pay homage to."

Tharja shot him another glare, but said nothing, simply muttering to herself. Walter took the opportunity and pushed past the unsettled dark mage, and closed the door to Phila's room behind him.

"Sir Walter," Phila greeted warmly. "I see you have had the pleasure of speaking with the young Plegian?"

"Yes," Walter muttered darkly. "She is as…charming as ever."

Phila almost laughed, before grimacing. "She requested to look at my injuries. I am at least grateful she did not lie when I asked why; she wished to test one of her concoctions on it, but when questioned as to the nature of it, she simply gave that unnerving giggle of hers. I refused her at that point."

"That was very wise," Walter said with a small laugh. "How are you feeling?" he asked. He didn't feel the need to examine her back or chest this time; Libra had declared them fully healed last night, and he trusted the war monk's judgment.

"Almost as good as I've ever been," Phila answered. "There is still pain in my back, but at this point I fear that it will remain that way forever; last night, Libra told me that all but the worst scarring had faded, yet I still experience shoots of pain, or numbness."

Walter frowned. He had feared this; with the extensive damage to her back from the wounds and poison, he knew wishing for a flawless recovery was too much. "I would say that some of the nerves in your back have not healed properly," Walter said gravely. "And you are correct in guessing that we can do little about it. We could attempt to remove the affected tissue and heal it again, but that could leave you in worse condition."

"Then leave it," Phila stated bluntly. "The pain is not debilitating, merely uncomfortable. I can still fly and fight, according to Libra, and so I can bear the pain." She sighed. "How did your meeting with the Prince go?" she asked.

Walter gave her an honest summary of the meeting, including the amusing start of it. Phila herself laughed at that. "I would have paid to see that," she said wistfully.

"After today, you are welcome to," Walter stated. Phila raised her eyebrow. "Libra and I discussed it last night, and we are prepared to release you back to active duty."

The childlike expression of glee that Walter received did not surprise him; she had made her distaste of "laying about" quite clear on several occasions over the past couple of days. What _did_ surprise him, however, was when she practically leapt out of her bed and wrapped her arms around him, thanking him profusely. They sat like that for several seconds, until Phila seemingly remembered herself and leapt away from him as if burned.

"Well, that was…something," Walter stated as evenly as he could manage. "Thank the Lord Chrom was not present to see that. Or the other Shepherds; that's where he picked up those inane rumors, no doubt."

Phila raised her eyebrow again. "Pardon me?"

"Prince Chrom made an insinuation earlier about the amount of time I spend tending to you," Walter told her. The level of red her face turned reminded Walter forcibly of Cordelia's natural hair color. "Although…" Walter continued, grinning smugly, "I was able to turn the tables on him, and much more effectively. When I left the room, he was quite shocked."

Phila's burning face died down, though still rather red, as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Sumia came to me this morning, complaining of morning sickness and the frequent need to relieve herself," Walter stated simply. He knew Phila understood the implications, even if she did not have children herself.

"That… that is…something," Phila responded at length, looking rather shocked, the last of the color draining from her face.

"Indeed it is," Walter responded with a hearty laugh. "Prince Chrom was as pale as a cadaver when I left."

"Does he intend to marry her?" Phila asked sharply. "He had well better!"

"I have no doubt he will," Walter said placatingly. "You know the Prince better than I do, Phila," he stated truthfully. "You know he is a man of honor. If he did not intend to wed her before, and I suspect he did, he does now."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Phila said, exhaling deeply. "It is just so…strange to think of. I knew Chrom well as a small child, and have seen Sumia around court since she was a small child herself. It is almost…surreal. To imagine the one who was asking you for sweets one moment is pregnant the next…"

"Undoubtedly," Walter sympathized. "I will attempt to create either a salve or tonic for your back pain, but you are otherwise free to leave this room tomorrow morning."

"Thank Naga," Phila said with relief. "I enjoy reading, but there is only so much of it one can do before tiring of it. I want…I _need_ to return to duty."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Walter stated with a smile. "And we will be glad to have you return. Cordelia especially; though she is certainly capable, even excellent at performing her duties, being torn between all of the work she has shouldered is clearly wearing on her. Few can notice, an even fewer care to, but one of my closest friends was similar. You can see the signs, if you know where to look. Trouble focusing her vision, the ever so slight delay in response time, the twitching extremities. Though she would never admit it, I'm sure she's as eager for you to return as you are to do so."

"She is too young to bear such burdens," Phila noted sadly, before her expression turned curious. "But who is this friend you mentioned? Not to be rude, but you have mentioned so little of your social life that I had…assumed you had none, at least prior to arriving here."

Walter chuckled wryly. "It would not be an incorrect assumption, to be honest. I only ever had but two true friends. Kendal, and Justino. I was referring to the latter; Kendal is far stronger than either of us, nothing seemed to shake him. Justino is…was, strong in his own right, but often worked himself to the bone. More than once I had to pull him back, for his own sake. He was a very zealous man, for certain."

"Was?" Phila asked cautiously.

"Was," Walter confirmed, bowing his head slightly.

"I am sorry," Phila consoled, reaching a hand out to touch Walter's own. "If it is not too painful, how…"

"Kendal killed him," Walter stated succinctly. Phila turned pale. "Kendal was not present when Justino and I were forced to turn on the Patriarch," he explained. "He was away, desperately fighting back the Dark Legion advance into Ecclesia. He was informed of the incident after the fact by the Patriarch himself, as Justino and I fled for the Altar." Walter inhaled deeply, before exhaling. "His fury was unmatchable when stoked, and the full force of it was turned on us at Nowart. Justino foolishly challenged him to single combat, to buy us time…and was slain."

"Gods above," Phila whispered. "I am terribly sorry, Walter, I did not wish to…"

"It is fine, Phila," Walter said quietly."I curse the Devil for pitting us against one another, but do not begrudge either of them. They both acted on what they thought was right according to the Lord's will, as did I. The only difference between us was perspective. Had Kendal the opportunity to speak to either of us before the Patriarch, I don't doubt he would have joined us." _But we were all deceived,_ Walter added to himself bitterly. _Encablossa's machinations caused one of my best friends to murder the other, all for the sake of his insane plans._ "Justino now undoubtedly resides in the Lord's Kingdom, and Kendal and I will meet him there when our own ends come. There, we shall be reunited as friends, and share brotherhood everlasting in the Lord's Kingdom. I believe it without doubt."

Phila smiled sadly. "That is an admirable way to think of things," she said softly. "I cannot imagine how you can hold so fast to your faith, after everything."

"Dedication," Walter explained simply. "I see each trial I undergo as a different iteration of the same choice: do I trust in the Lord to watch and guide me, or do I abandon my faith and try to continue forward by myself? I have always chosen the first. At this point, I cannot even comprehend choosing the second."

"Your God is fortunate for being the recipient of such dedication," Phila said kindly.

"You flatter me, Phila," Walter responded with a smile. "It is no less the dedication that Frederick shows to Prince Chrom, or that you had showed to the Exalt."

"Perhaps," Phila mused, smiling herself. "Yet, I-"

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Walter quickly strode to open it, and beheld Chrom standing in the door, a grave look on his face.

"Prince Chrom?" Walter asked, confused. "Is the meeting in the barracks over already?"

"Yes," he replied, "But that is not why I'm here. Upon leaving the barracks, I was informed by one of our guards that King Gerald was here."

Walter's blood ran cold. "What does he want?" he asked quietly.

"He simply requested to see me," Chrom responded. "We can probably assume why he's here, however."

"To kill me," Walter stated. It wasn't a question. Chrom nodded. "I will go don my armor."

"The rest of the Shepherds are already ahead of you," Chrom said with a small smile. "You've made friends here, and we'll be damned if the bastard tries to take you from us after everything you've done for us all."

Walter smiled warmly. "I am…honored, Prince Chrom," he replied humbly.

"I'm coming as well!" Phila said behind him; Walter saw that she was already on her feet, pulling her boots on.

"You bloody well are not," Walter said derisively. "You may be healed, but you have not been released yet, and-"

"To hell with you," Phila interrupted sharply as she strode over to the mannequin with her armor (Walter regretted ever allowing it into the room; Phila had complained ceaselessly until he had caved). "You have saved my life twice now, and I will not stand idly by while some lunatic tries to kill you. You will have to kill me yourself to stop me," she concluded as she swung her breastplate deftly over her head and began buckling the clasps.

"Oooh, this sounds exciting," Tharja giggled from her spot against the wall. "Prince Chrom, do I have your leave to test my new curse on this…Gerald?"

"If he attacks Walter, you have my permission to use any and all curses you wish," Chrom stated bluntly. Tharja's eyes lit up with glee, and she began muttering all of her ideas of what to use under her breath. "But _only_ if he attacks. He is a King, Tharja, and I will not lightly start another war." Tharja blew a raspberry in disappointment, but nodded in acceptance.

"We shouldn't keep him waiting," Walter said grimly. "If he seeks violence, it's better to get the matter over and done with. We have a war to fight, and can spare little time for his games."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Chrom said with a grin. "Let's go."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

 **King Gerald**

"King Gerald, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Chrom stated flatly as he walked into the Grand Hall, Walter and Robin at his side. Frederick stood behind them, and the rest of the Shepherds streamed in behind them.

"We received word of Exalt Emmeryn's untimely demise," Gerald stated humbly. "I partly came to impart my sincere condolences. Despite our disagreements, I found her to be a wonderful person. The world is lesser for her loss."

"Thank you," Chrom said shortly. "And the other part of your visit?"

Gerald frowned in concern at Chrom's bluntness. "We wish to rejoin you," Gerald stated just as shortly.

"Forgive me if I'm suspicious," Chrom said quite bluntly, "but the last time you were with us, you were here simply for an excuse to kill Sir Walter. I will state it plain: I am not my sister, and I will not tolerate threats against my friends. If that is your intention, then you may take your leave."

Gerald spared a glance at Walter, but it carried none of the vehemence that he had come to expect from the man. "He's your problem now," Gerald said simply. "I can't stop him, and you won't see the risk he poses. Whenever he betrays you, I'm sure you'll kill him yourself, and justice will be served at long last. The conclusion's already predetermined as far as I'm concerned, but I will no longer concern myself with it. He's not why I'm here."

"Then why _are_ you here?" Walter asked suspiciously. "What are you playing at, King Gerald?"

"I'm here to help you in this war," Gerald told him. The Shepherds did not respond. "I may be getting old, Prince Chrom, but I am still as formidable a warrior as ever. My wife is even more so. We offer our aid in this war, take it or leave it. If not, we will return to Bersia, and be out of your hair forever."

"Can you offer the Hironeiden Army?" Walter asked. "While your skill is not in question, the impact of two swords, no matter how skilled, can significantly affect the outcome of the war."

This appeared to greatly amuse Gerald; he looked at Walter, nearly bursting out laughing, before shaking his head. "If only you knew how much one person could change…Captain Phila, I see you are still alive."

"Yes, I am," she replied tersely, gripping her lance so tightly Walter could hear the handle creak. "What of it? If you seek to change that, you may find that your reach exceeds your grasp."

"What if I told you that you were supposed to die over a month ago?" Gerald asked casually. The Shepherds froze. "After we parted ways, we sought out our former traveling companions, Regnier, Leinhart, and Marth. Regnier's trail disappeared in western Regna Ferox, but we managed to find Marth. It was actually rather easy, once you figure out what she's after," he said with a shrug. "Regnier originally dragged us here to help save this world, though he never specified why or from what. Marth apparently knew him, and in his absence, we sought her out. We eventually convinced her to unveil her story-all of it." Gerald shook his head. "She begged us to keep as much of it secret as possible-"

"Even though she's being an idiot about it," Ellen grumbled mostly to herself, interrupting Gerald.

"-but suffice it to say, until the night of Emmeryn's attempted assassination, she knew the future. Everything that would happen, everyone that would live or die. You, Captain, were supposed to die that night, defending the Exalt from the sorcerer leading the assassins. Your sacrifice would have been in vain; the assassins were supposed to succeed, and steal the Fire Emblem. Prince Chrom was supposed to be permanently injured, his left arm practically unusable, which would eventually lead to more injuries from being unable to properly defend himself, which all culminates in… well, that's a long story, and I can't discuss most of it. The Second Plegian War iss supposed to drag out for nearly a decade, before Chrom personally removes Gangrel's head from his body." The silence in the room following all of that was deafening.

"Except that's not what happened," Walter finally spoke up. "The assassination plot was foiled, and though Emmeryn is now dead, she lived past that night. Chrom remains uninjured, and Captain Phila yet stands. It seems Marth is a poor prophet."

"Do you know why none of that happened?" Gerald countered, almost bored. "Because of you. You, Ellen, Marth, and I. None of us were supposed to be there that night. Marth and Prince Chrom slew the leader of the assassins, while the three of us defended the Exalt from the horde of assassins that the sorcerer sent her way. You have healed Phila twice now from wounds sustained protecting the Exalt, wounds that I'm certain would have been fatal otherwise." Walter said nothing, but Gerald smirked at the wordless affirmation. "Four people changed the history of this world drastically that night."

"How much did they really change?" Robin argued. "Even now, someone plots against Phila's life. Chrom will be leading this war from the front, so there is ample opportunity for him to be crippled. And, as much as it pains me, the Exalt died all the same." Chrom winced at Robin's proclamation, but said nothing.

"The way Emmeryn died changes everything," Gerald rebutted. "By Marth's account, the assassination of Emmeryn galvanized the Plegians, and that resolve is what dragged the war out as long as it went. Her choice to willingly sacrifice her own life in front of thousands has changed everything. Tell me, what is the state of Plegian morale right now?"

"I'm awaiting Cordelia's report on that," Robin said stiffly. "It should arrive within the day."

"Let me save you some time," Gerald said smugly. "The Plegian army is in complete disarray. There is a massive revolt occurring within the Plegian Army, led by one General Mustafa after the very public torture and death of his wife and child. General Mustafa, who Marth says should be dead, by Chrom's hand," he looked to Walter as the Shepherds' silence reached such a level that you could cut the air with a dull knife. "Yet you spared his life. I witnessed it myself. That one act, that one person, has given you the opportunity to cut this war short by almost ten years," Gerald announced. "So do not discount the effect one sword can have for a cause. And we are here to offer our swords to you. We would offer the Hironeiden Army as well, but there is little time to wait for them to mobilize; this mutiny will be sorted out likely within a month. The time to strike is _now_ , and we're offering to help. Again, take it, or leave it."

"How reliable is this 'Marth', milord?" Frederick spoke up. "It is all fine and good to make bold predictions, but with no evidence, it is just empty soothsaying. It is easy to say who will live or die; it is another to prove your claims."

"If Prince Chrom knew Lu…Marth's true identity," Ellen spoke up, "I have no doubt he would trust her implicitly. I'd tell you myself, but it's not my place, and she's adamant about not getting involved in your life." She finished irritably. "Dumb girl," she added, muttering to herself under her breath.

"Chrom?" Robin asked. Walter turned to see the Prince cupping his chin thoughtfully, staring at nothing in particular. "What do you think?"

"I accept your aid," Chrom said at length. The Shepherds immediately broke out in protest. "Under one condition: if you threaten any of my soldiers, subjects, or friends, I will personally cut you down." The Shepherds roared in agreement at that.

"That's fair," Gerald shrugged apathetically. "I'm here to change the future, but not ruin it. Each one of you is vital, despite any personal issues I may have with you. Marth disagrees with my judgment but…well, she doesn't dare come here to stop me, and I won't sit idly by while events repeat themselves. The best way to avert the future she foretold is to change _everything_ we can."

"I will speak with you about this at length later," Chrom stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "For now, I will have Frederick give you a room in the Royal Apartments. You undoubtedly had a hard road, and I like to think I'm not the worst host on the continent. But I doubt the Shepherds want you sharing their barracks, and I won't force your presence on them."

Gerald shrugged again. "Very well. Sir Frederick, lead the way."

Frederick gave a look that indicated that he would rather do anything but lead the way, but his adherence to his duty came first, and he nodded stiffly before gesturing for them to follow him.

As the three walked out of the Grand Hall, the Shepherds clamored around Chrom, shouting their displeasure at the arrangement. He raised his hands, and the protests slowly died down.

"Chrom, this isn't a good idea," Robin said once the din died down. Several Shepherds shouted encouragement.

"I know," Chrom admitted openly. "But when I spoke to Marth after she saved Emmeryn…It's difficult to explain. I know I can trust her, and what they told me matches up with what little she did that night."

"Gerald's shift in demeanor is suspicious," Walter pointed out. "He has always been prone to anger, and this nonchalant behavior does not match him at all. I believe he is plotting something."

"Perhaps we need to put a guard on Walter now," Stahl supplied thoughtfully.

"Maybe we can just put Captain Phila and Walter in the same room, and have one guard for both of them!" Vaike jeered. Several of the other, more rowdy Shepherds began catcalling and wolf-whistling. Walter's skin went pale and he shouted his displeasure back at them. Within seconds, Phila was shouting herself, her face beet red, though from anger or embarrassment no one could tell.

"Calm down, calm down!" Chrom shouted, laughing. Slowly, the shouting contest died down, with Phila throwing one last curse-laden threat at Vaike, who was still doubled over laughing. "Enough of that. We'll all look out for each other-that's what friends are for!" The Shepherds all cheered at that. "But Gerald is right about one thing: If the Plegian Army is in disarray, then now is the perfect time to strike. Once Cordelia returns to confirm or disprove Gerald's claims, we'll decide whether or not we march on Plegia. For now, assume we are marching to Plegia tomorrow!" The Shepherds roared "For Ylisse!" in response to that. "Get some rest, you lunatics," Chrom laughed. The Shepherds shouted wordlessly back at him, before all breaking apart to go their separate ways.

"I'm going to the Library, to work on the marching plans," Robin announced. All that remained behind were Walter, who was quiet, Phila, still fuming over Vaike's teasing, Chrom, Lissa and Sumia, who Walter noticed was quite pale. He then noticed Lissa's excited grin, and realized that she must have examined the young Pegasus Knight already.

"I will go with you," Walter announced, shooting Lissa a knowing grin. "Captain Phila, you expressed a desire to return to work. Would you wish to join us?" he asked, his tone trying to convey the situation to her.

Luckily, Phila caught on quickly. "Of course, Sir Walter," she said with a sly smile. "Lead the way."

"One can only wonder how much work will get done between these two lovebirds," Robin idly joked as he began walking away. He quickly yelped and ducked, however, as Phila's lance went soaring perilously close to his head. The man quickly took off running, screaming about devil-women as Phila retrieved her lance, hurling abuse at him all the while. A minute of walking behind those two later, Walter could hear Lissa's wicked cackling resonating behind him. She really took too much pleasure in tormenting others…

In perhaps ten minutes, Walter found himself trailing into the library; Phila and Robin were already seated. Robin was nursing a black eye, however. Phila had clearly gotten him good; as Lissa had healed Robin's bruising from Chrom earlier. Walter sat down and pulled over a map of the Ylissean continent, before grabbing a stack of Robins (apparently outdated) reports on Plegian troop movements.

It was only a few minutes before Robin spoke up. "Oh Gods," Robin realized in horror.

"What is it, Robin?" Walter asked, looking up from one of the reports.

"We don't have a General," he said quietly. "With the arrest of General Thorne, the Ylissean Army lacks a commander. All of the other candidates are spread across the continent, holding the border, and there's no time to reorganize the Army around them unless we get a new…a…new…" he was now staring at Walter with a strange intensity.

"What?" Walter asked, discomfited by the man's stare.

"I have an idea. Wait right here," Robin said quickly, before dashing out of the Library.

"What is the man on about?" Walter wondered aloud.

Phila, however had a look of realization on her face. "He's going to ... It makes sense, I admit, but the uproar among the nobles…but he wouldn't care for such things, would he?" she muttered to herself amusedly.

"Phila, do you know what Robin is planning?" Walter asked her.

"Maybe," Phila answered evasively, turning back to her own work. "I cannot say, however; I could be wildly wrong."

Walter tried several more times to get Phila to come forward, but she was saying nothing. Walter huffed, and returned to his own work. Ylisseans were innately mad, he was convinced. They were just a strange people. Several minutes later, Robin reentered the Library with Chrom in tow, an unsettlingly wide grin on his face.

"It's about time you returned," Walter huffed, before continuing his work. "Have you recovered from your madness?"

"Not at all," Robin said cheerily. "I think I've even infected Chrom with it."

Walter set his quill down with a sigh. "Out with it then," Walter told Robin grumpily. "We've an assault to plan, and we have little time for these games."

Chrom now shared Robin's grin as he spoke up. "Walter, how would you feel about being appointed as Grand General of the Ylissean Army?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

 **General Walter of Ylisse**

"This is a horrendous idea," Walter scoffed for what had to be the thousandth time since he had been bullied into accepting Chrom's offer last night. He had not slept well, and had nearly fallen off his horse while mounting it.

"I think it's a great idea," Robin said cheerily as he mounted his own horse beside him.

"You would," Walter muttered darkly. "It was your idea."

"Who better to lead the Ylissean Army to war than a man who's fought against foes of every kind for his entire adulthood?" Robin insisted for the thousandth time.

"A man familiar with Ylissean troop formations, to start with," Walter rebutted for the thousandth time. "A man _from_ Ylisse, for another."

"It's easy to learn," Robin countered for the thousandth time. "And Captain Phila will be here to help you," he added cheerily, again for the thousandth time.

"I do not doubt Captain Phila's strategic skill or thinking," Walter groaned for the thousandth time, "but this will create a huge backlash in court. There are rumors, however baseless, of an affair between us, and my lack of title or formal station will rouse the nobles against the Prince. Everyone will assume I unfairly attained this position. This could hamstring Chrom's political career before it starts."

"Which is why you're going to do an excellent job, and prove the naysayers wrong," Robin argued cheerily for the thousandth time.

Walter roared in frustration. "There is no way out of this, is there?" He asked hopelessly.

"Nope," Robin replied gleefully. "I personally shoved the paperwork through this morning. It's official. Congratulations, Sir Walter Lionheart, Grand General of the Ylissean Army."

"Why did you write my family name on the paperwork as Lionheart?" Walter asked him, confused. "My family name is Grant. Your…abomination of a name is ridiculous!"

"Yes, but there is already a House Grant," Robin countered. "They own substantial land in the south, the largest city being Port Grant, named after the first of the line. The standard on your tunic is that of a lion, and I decided to go with that."

Walter grimaced. "You are mad. You are all mad! Ylisseans are utterly insane!"

"You're one of us now, and we have the paperwork to prove it," Robin chided, eliciting a groan from Walter, "so what does that make you?"

"Even more insane for going along with this," Walter grumbled as they exited the Palace gates, to where the rest of the Shepherds waited. Robin simply laughed at him the whole way.

"Do we all know the plan?" Chrom was saying as they approached.

"Go out, skin Gangrel and turn him into a carpet, and be home in time for supper!" Sully cried, eliciting cheers from several of the Shepherds.

"Thank you, Sully, for that…wonderful image," Chrom groaned, eliciting even more laughter. "But in essence, yes, that is the plan. Of course, it will take several days to reach Castle Sable in northern Plegia, so we won't be home in time for dinner, but the principle's the same. General Walter here," he said, gesturing to the man in question-the Shepherds cheered and roared wildly for him, while he fidgeted and grumbled- "will be leading the Army against the Plegians with the Khans and the Feroxi Army."

"Couple's retreat!" Vaike jeered, prompting more laughter. This time, Phila (being present with the Shepherds while Walter prepared for his new position) was too slow to attack or otherwise berate the man; Flavia appeared as from seemingly nowhere and locked the man in a vicious headlock. She punched him wherever she could reach, screaming abuse at him for daring to suggest she would sleep with "that bald, one-eyed, limp wristed old oaf", much to the amusement of the others and Basilio's very vocal protest, both to Vaike's insinuation and Flavia's insults.

"As I was saying…!" Chrom shouted pointedly, and the heckling died down, though Flavia refused to relinquish Vaike's head, "They will engage whatever Plegians resist them, and hopefully link up with the rebels in a unified show of force against Gangrel's tyranny. The Mad King's reign ends now!" The Shepherds thundered their agreement. With that, the Shepherds broke up, going to their places in formation. Walter spurred his horse forward, and met up with Chrom at the head of the column.

"We will be right behind you," Walter swore. "You will not face the Mad King alone."

"I do not fear Gangrel," Chrom assured him with a smile, "but I will count on you nonetheless. Remember, if you can find Mustafa and convince him to join us, that would be all the better. And…apologize to him, in my stead," Chrom answered uneasily. "I was…unfair to the man. Too blinded by rage to see reason."

"He understands, Prince Chrom," Walter told him consolingly. "He could barely speak, but he did not blame you. He blamed Gangrel for forcing our hands in the matter."

"Gangrel has much to answer for," Chrom said grimly, "and I will be the one to make him answer for it."

"May the Lord watch over you, Prince," Walter said, bowing in his saddle.

"May Naga's light guide you, General," Chrom said with a grin. Walter grimaced, and Chrom chuckled lightly. "Relax, Walter," Chrom stated soothingly. "You will do fine. You have led troops of this number before; you're a veteran with decades of experience. You can handle this."

"I have reservations about this whole affair, true," Walter admitted, "but I worry more for you, Prince Chrom. This move will not be popular with your Court."

"We will deal with that when we come to it," Chrom replied calmly. Walter wished he could be as unfazed by it. "Godspeed, Walter."

"Godspeed, Chrom," Walter replied. "Captain Phila, are you ready?"

The woman in question sat atop a painted mare, looking entirely uncomfortable on a regular horse. "I suppose I am," Phila sighed, hefting her lance in one hand, and a new shield in the other. "Let us be off."

With that, the two pulled away from the Shepherds. The Shepherds would be taking the easy route, skirting along the mountain range, and cutting west. It was a longer route than the Army would take, but that was by design; Robin planned to have the Army meet up with them at Castle Sable, Gangrel's northern refuge, to utterly crush the Mad King while his army was reeling from the mutiny. Walter and the Army would be cutting across the mountains, and pushing northwest across the Plegian highlands; it was not the desert of the south, but still arid, and sparsely populated.

Phila was beginning to concern Walter, however. He knew she would remain upset over Emmeryn's sacrifice for quite some time, but there seemed to be something…more bothering her. She had become quite melancholy over the last two days, as they had begun their preparations to march.

"What is bothering you?" Walter asked her abruptly. Phila turned to him, her look one of question. "You have been…preoccupied of late, and I do not think it is that your thoughts linger on Emmeryn."

"My thoughts are ever on Emmeryn," Phila countered sadly, "but you are correct. I grieve also for Catria."

"Catria?" Walter asked, confused. The only person he knew by that name was one of the famous Whitewings of Ylissean lore.

"My pegasus," She replied shortly, and morosely.

Walter's face dropped; he hadn't even considered that! He was such a clod; she had explained to him the bond that pegasi shared with their riders, yet hadn't even spared the poor creature a glance when they had fallen! Granted, the pegasus had taken even more arrows than Phila, and had not the armor to dampen the blow, and thus was certainly dead long before it reached the ground, but still…he should have at least checked her!

"I am sorry," Walter told her, the words sounding empty to him. "This must be terrible."

"As terrible as one could expect of losing a creature you've had an intimate bond with for most of your life," Phila muttered flatly. "Today, as I finished donning my armor, I had made it nearly to the top of the tower where the pegasus stables reside, before I remembered…" she didn't finish the sentence, only giving a soft sniffle that Walter almost swore he didn't hear.

Walter reached over and touched her shoulder gently, consolingly. Phila reacted by wiping the solitary tear that had fallen from her eye, and gently shrugging Walter's hand away.

"I will endure," Phila stated succinctly, visibly steeling her resolve. "There are greater concerns at hand, like the impending march…and your new position."

Walter frowned in concern, but let the matter drop; he would have to discuss it with her later. "Fair enough," he said aloud. "The Army awaits us outside the gates, does it not?"

"Aye," Phila answered. "Though most of the Court members that command the main divisions are scattered across the Plegian border, their vassals command beneath them or in place of them in their absence. The vassal we must deal with in particular is…Roark's son, Rickard."

Walter was confused for a second, before remembering that Roark was General Thorne's first name. Walter felt himself panic a bit; first he disgraces and imprisons that man, and now he must potentially wrest control of the Army from his son? "This may be…problematic," he said worriedly.

"It may," Phila responded neutrally as they passed the outer gates of Ylisstol. The thousands of soldiers that made up General Thorne's personal unit, a legion of four thousand men at arms, stood before them in formation, chatting idly. "Rickard is a reasonable man, so I can hope things will go well, but…well, it is his father, after all."

"I will have to be cautious," Walter said sagely as they passed by the soldiers along either side of the road, many of which were glancing at Walter in confusion; nobody knew of his appointment yet. This would be… tricky. He would not only have to contend with this Rickard, but do so in a manner that earned the respect of the soldiers. Farther down the road, Walter noted the Feroxi army, a motely collection of warriors that seemed more rabble than soldier, lounging about in no coherent formation and several openly drinking spirits. _Why am I not surprised,_ Walter thought flatly as he observed the…uniqueness of their northern neighbors.

"Lady Talys!" a man's voice called out ahead of them. Walter beheld a young, brown haired man, of an age with the younger Shepherds, sitting atop a large, blue-armored destrier. Walter immediately concluded that this was Rickard; he was the spitting image of his father, albeit younger and free of scars. "It is such a pleasure to see you again!"

"Likewise, Rickard," Phila greeted pleasantly. Her family name was Talys? That was an interesting note to Walter; he stored it away for later reference. "How do you fare?"

"Less than admirable, I'm afraid," Rickard responded nervously. "While I have been trained to assume my father's role when his time comes, I do fear my education thus far has been inadequate. This task is quite beyond me, I'm afraid," he admitted freely. "Who is your escort, Lady Talys?"

"Please, it's just Captain Phila," Phila insisted, though with the air of someone who acknowledged that it was a futile effort; Walter guessed that they knew each other quite well. "And it would be more accurate to say that I am _his_ escort. This is Sir Walter, of Prince Chrom's Shepherds."

Rickard's gaze hardened at that; he had clearly heard the name of the man who arrested his father. He gazed at Walter scrutinizingly, searching for…something, Walter was not sure what. "So, you are the one who arrested Father," he said in a neutral tone.

"I am," Walter admitted, his tone equally neutral.

To Walter's surprise, the man's face broke out in relief. "Thank you," Rickard said. Walter's eyebrows shot up in shock. "I had marched with Father, and protested heavily against his orders to destroy those villages. He would have nothing of it, however. As much as it pains me to admit it, Father needed to be stopped. And he insulted the Prince's name to boot, in front of his own soldiers no less! After he had just watched his older sister leave the mortal world behind! Entirely inappropriate!" Rickard smiled. "I am grateful for you, Sir Walter, though I can see plainly that it surprises you. Perhaps I would not call you a friend, but you have my respect, at the least." Rickard cleared his throat. "So, what business brings you to me? With such a lovely companion beside you, no less? Enjoying a morning ride with pleasant company?"

Walter coughed uncomfortably, and he noticed Phila blushing lightly. "I am here to assume command of the Army," He stated without preamble. He reached into his pouch, and pulled out the orders Robin had drafted. "Prince Chrom has appointed me as the new Grand General."

Rickard practically snatched the papers from Walter's hands, and Walter could barely track his eye movements as he burned through the formal document. "This is almost certainly genuine," Rickard stated in shock. "I know our Lord Prince cares little for the opinions of the court, but _this_ …"

"I want it known that I did not agree with the decision," Walter argued. "I was practically forced into it."

"Oh, I do not doubt your ability, Sir Walter…General," Rickard corrected. "Prince Chrom has ever been an excellent judge of ability, if not character in some situations... I am just surprised that the Lord Prince would make such a bold political move, so soon after the Exalt's passing. One can only wonder what he is thinking."

"Indeed," Walter agreed sourly. "Nevertheless, I will do everything within my power to lead this army well."

"Will you address the men, General?" Phila asked him, almost smirking.

" _The men are afraid, Walter," Justino said worriedly. "You should speak to them, one last time."_

 _Walter grimaced, but eventually nodded. "I owe them that much," Walter admitted somberly. "I've led them to a certain death."_

Despite what Justino had praised as an abundance of skill, Walter despised giving speeches.

"Very well," Walter said with a sigh, before dismounting his horse and turning back to the Ylissean soldiers behind him. "Soldiers!" he shouted. Immediately, the soldiers jumped to attention; they were at least well trained. Those who couldn't quite hear his voice still snapped to, seeing their fellow soldiers doing so.

 _What do I say now?_ Walter thought quickly to himself as the soldiers watched, curious and expectant. _Bugger it, I'll play it by ear._

"I am General Walter…Lionheart," he said, begrudgingly using Robin's ludicrous surname as he began pacing across the front of the formation. "Prince Chrom has appointed me as the new Grand General of the Ylissean Army!" He heard some muttering at that; soldiers were not political creatures by any means, but even they could see the concern that his appointment raised. _Encouragement and reassurance,_ Walter decided on the spot. "Though I hail from lands far distant to these, I am honored to lead such honorable and skilled men!" Several of the obviously more rambunctious soldiers cheered at that. _At least some of them approve,_ Walter thought with a small smile. "I shall do my best to lead you to glory in the battles ahead, but it is you who shall win them! It is by your blood, your sweat, and your tears that Ylisse survives and prospers!" More soldiers than before cheered that time. "Together, we shall cast down the Mad King!" The cheering grew much louder that time. "And when we have overthrown that cruel despot, we shall return home together as brothers in arms, and celebrate the peace that we _shall_ win! May the gods show us their favor in the battles ahead!" Walter drew his mace on impulse, and thrust it into the air. "For the Exalted Line! For Ylisse!"

"For the Exalted Line! For Ylisse!" The soldiers echoed thunderously. Walter smiled and sheathed his mace as the call grew into a chant; within seconds, the entire formation of thousands was echoing the call. Walter mounted his horse again. "We march for Plegia!" Walter roared over the din. The soldiers gave a wordless roar of enthusiasm as Walter turned about, and the army began the long trek to Plegia. Walter sighed in relief as the drummers began to beat the march's rhythm.

"That was quite the speech, General," Phila complimented, a genuine smile on her face. "For one who so clearly hates giving speeches, you have quite the knack for it. You seemed every bit the Grand General out there."

"Yes, he did," Rickard commented lightly atop his own destrier. "One could even say he looked rather…dashing, eh Lady Talys?"

"Not this again," Walter groaned, as Phila turned a shade of red that prompted Walter to worry for her health. "Why does everyone insist on this fantasy!?"

"One could not possibly imagine why," Rickard answered airily, chuckling deeply at Walter's grimace. "Now then, Sir Walter; I have heard rumors, of course, and your mention of 'distant lands' has piqued my curiosity: where _do_ you hail from?"

"That is… a long story," Walter sighed. "Though I suppose we have the time to discuss it, don't we? Very well. I will start at the beginning of my tale. I was in audience with my sovereign, the Patriarch of Ecclesia, when he received a missive claiming an Oracle of the Lord had arrived in the capital…"


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

 **A Bittersweet Gift**

Two weeks had passed since they had departed Ylisstol with the Feroxi and Ylissean armies; well over ten thousand men at arms, marching for the singular purpose of dethroning the Mad King. Walter never tired of such sights; there was something almost…ethereal, magical about seeing so many men moving in concert, acting as one to achieve a high ideal or lofty goal.

And of course, as with every other time he had dared to enjoy the feeling, it was ruined by a virtual mountain of parchment.

They had crossed the Plegian border several days ago, and Walter spent all of his "spare" time at camp during the night poring over reports of every nature. Troop disposition, scouting, logistics, morale, all of the old enemies of a commander who simply wanted a good night's sleep for once.

Thankfully, he was not alone in his endeavors, as he was with the Emissaries (Justino excluded; the man insisted on helping Walter). Rickard and Phila sat with him as well, and they were surrounded by a veritable army of adjutants, clerks, lieutenants, and runners, who collated and disseminated the information and orders the command staff decided on, before dispersing it to the rest of the Army. Walter's patience chafed at the sheer inefficiency of the Ylissean Army. He did not entertain the thought of accepting the position permanently, but if he was forced to, one of his first initiatives would be to bring the Army up to modern Bersian standards. This bloated, bureaucratic mess of parchment was beyond wasteful. They had to have slain thousands of cattle to create all of this parchment, just to write everything down!

Rickard looked as miserable as Walter felt; the man was clearly out of his depth. The man belonged as a single unit commander, not a strategist or general. He had displayed a remarkable knowledge of unit-level tactics, but his strategy left much to be desired. He was young yet, however; he could grow into the role, given proper guidance. Maybe Walter could give the man his position and coach him through it?

Phila, on the other hand, looked quite at home. She was a veteran of as much conflict as Walter, and it showed; her face was set and determined as she penned orders regarding the logistics of the cleric corps' medical supplies. Walter frowned, however, as he noticed her wince in pain, and her hand drift absently to her back to rub the affected spot.

"Captain Phila, are you well?" Walter asked concernedly.

"Yes, I am fine, General," Phila replied distractedly as she continued working.

"Have you applied your salve today?" Walter asked rhetorically. They both knew the answer, and Phila simply flushed and continued working. "Captain, I prescribed the salve for a reason," Walter admonished her.

"It is nothing, General," Phila insisted, her tone unusually hostile."Some back pain is not enough to lay this knight low."

"All the same," Walter responded, his own tone becoming hostile and his frown deepening, "I would much prefer if-"

"General Lionheart," Rickard spoke up suddenly. "Perhaps you could help me?"

Walter shot Phila a pointed glance, before turning to Rickard. "What is it, Captain?"

"I… I am having difficulty understanding these logistics reports," Rickard said sheepishly. "I was wondering if you might be willing to show me what these reports mean. I am a visual learner, however; we shall need to go to the supply tent in question, if I am to truly learn any of this."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Very well," he agreed, utterly nonplussed. "Lead the way, Captain."

"Gladly, sir," Rickard responded with a smile. Rickard shot Phila a look he couldn't quite decipher, before leading Walter out of the tent.

"By Naga, General," Rickard sighed when they were out of earshot of the tent, "you fuss far too much."

Walter frowned deeply. "I 'fuss' as much as is required," he contended hotly. "Captain Phila has ignored her wounds in the past; I had to remove a bushel basket's worth of necrotic flesh from her back. Her pride means nothing to me in comparison to her health."

"That's not what I meant," Rickard replied. "Phila does not like being…mothered like that," he explained sheepishly. "If you wish to grow closer to her, then you will need to change your tack."

Walter's frown deepened further. "I have no intentions of 'growing closer' to her, not in the way you so clearly imply. She is my patient, and I have oaths to uphold. Oaths notwithstanding, I consider her a valued friend, but that part of my life is behind me, Captain Thorne. I had but one love in my life, and she awaits me in the Lord's Kingdom. I have no intentions of pursuing romance with anyone at all, but Captain Phila especially, due to my oaths and our new relationship as superior and subordninate. Do we have an understanding?" Walter heard someone trip on the other side of the tent, and a hurried apology from one of the soldiers. He tuned the distraction out.

"I understand perfectly, General," Rickard replied evenly, "even if you do not."

"You are quickly overstepping your bounds, Captain," Walter growled, growing angry now. "I respect you, and appreciate your respect for me, but this is not a subject that you and I need to discuss. Anything occurring between myself and Captain Phila, though I can assure you no such thing exits, is our business alone. Are we clear?"

"As the Lake Caeda itself," Rickard replied stiffly. "Shall we return to our duties, then?"

"That would be best," Walter sighed, deflating. "Perhaps you are right, however," he admitted. "While I am not interested in Captain Phila in that manner, you have a point. I do perhaps 'fuss' overmuch. The salve is for comfort for her scars, not life saving treatment. I do not wish to drive her away for such a silly reason."

"That's a good man," Rickard replied cheerfully as he held the flap to the command tent open for Walter. "Now, back to it, shall we?" he asked as they entered, but quickly adopted a frown. "Where did Captain Phila go, soldier?" He asked, grabbing the nearest clerk.

"She complained of pain in her back," the soldier replied dutifully, "and stated that she was leaving to apply salve to it."

Rickard turned to Walter and smiled after dismissing the soldier. "She knows you fuss because you care, General," he stated with a curious tone that Walter grew suspicious of. Rickard saw his look, and raised his hands in supplication. Grumbling about gossips and busybodies under his breath, Walter sat back down at the table and returned to work.

000

"Captain Phila?" Walter called, "Are you alright? You did not return last night."

"I am fine," came Phila's stiff response from inside. "The pain was worse than normal last night, and I elected to retire early. I am simply drained right now; the pain is gone. There is no need to fuss."

Something was wrong here, Walter immediately deduced. However, given the argument that had almost been had last night, he opted to keep his distance. "Very well," he responded diplomatically. "If the pain returns, or you require further treatment, do not hesitate to call upon me."

"Understood, General," Phila responded, her tone still stiff. _It must be the exhaustion_ , Walter concluded. She had been running awfully long for one just recently released from medical care. "I will be up and about shortly."

"I will see you at the head of the column," Walter told her, before striding away from the tent.

He frowned deeply. Her back had healed rather well, he had thought; perhaps he had misdiagnosed her. He resolved to examine her wounds later tonight…assuming she didn't run him through with her lance for fussing.

As the camp broke down in the late evening (they marched at night to avoid the worst of the desert heat) and the soldiers formed up, he took his place at the head of the Allied Army. To his right rode Captain Rickard, and to his left, Khan Flavia opted to walk on her own feet, as opposed to riding. Walter found himself liking the Khan, despite her…unique personality. She was brash, downright crude even, but there was a certain freedom to her personality. She did not let the social expectations of her station weigh her down, and spoke her mind freely (warranted or not). Walter could respect that. It was refreshing, in truth; honesty from nobility, let alone sovereigns, was a rare thing indeed.

"We should be turning north today," Rickard was saying as Walter rode up. "We'll be stopping at an oasis to resupply on water, and then turn north to link up with Prince Chrom within a day. It appears our objective to link up with the Plegian resistance will not be achieved."

"There's plenty of hours left in the day," Flavia said jovially. "Maybe they'll be waiting at the oasis for us."

"More likely the Mad King's men will be," Rickard countered darkly as the last of the tents and supplies were loaded onto the logistics train's wagons. "We are far beyond the reach of Castle Plegia, which is currently under the Resistance's control. To have any sizable force in this region would be…difficult for them."

"We haven't exactly been subtle, marching through Plegia, bold as you please, with all speed," Flavia argued. "Everyone knows we're here by now. I'm just getting irritated that nobody's doing anything about it! I signed up for this war for a good fight, but we've either retreated, or the Plegians have hid from us! I just want to crack some skulls!" she practically whined as Walter ordered the troops to move out.

"You will get your fill of bloodshed tomorrow, at the very least," Walter said placatingly. The one thing he found unnerving about Khan Flavia was her sheer lust for combat; though given her position as the reigning Khan of the "Warrior Realm", he wasn't sure what else to honestly expect from her. He found himself torn between amusement and irritation at her antics; she had been complaining of boredom nonstop since Ylisse, when she wasn't publicly embarrassing Basilio for kicks or trading lewd verbal barbs with whatever soldier was brave enough to accept the challenge. One of the archers was _still_ mortified at the remark Phila had made about the "flexibility of his bow".

"I sure hope so," Flavia grumbled, crossing her arms as she stomped forward. "If Gangrel just rolls over and dies, that will take all the fun out of it!"

"I would much prefer surrender, myself," Rickard admitted. "Although we seem to have the upper hand, a cornered animal fights desperately to survive. With his madness fueling him further, I fear many lives will be lost that needn't have been."

"I'm of a mind with Captain Thorne," Phila interjected, pulling her horse up beside the man in question, placing him between her and Walter. "As much as I'd love to gut the bastard myself, I would certainly settle for watching the headsman's axe fall."

"You certainly look better, Captain Phila," Walter greeted cheerfully.

Walter grew concerned when her face darkened, however. "Yes, well… I suppose I just needed rest. I find myself looking forward to the warm bed waiting for me back in Ylisstol."

"That, we can agree on!" Flavia cheered. "A warm bed, a cold drink, and maybe the old grump here can find some lass to warm his bed with him!" Walter flushed furiously as Flavia howled her amusement. Walter even heard several of his soldiers chuckling along with her, but one heated glare was enough to silence that. "Or maybe a lad, if that's where your tastes lie!" Walter flushed even further. "HA!" Flavia barked at Walter's expression. "I knew it! I thought you were just dense, but maybe that's it! You're just attracted to men! No shame in it, mind you, there are many ways to survive the winter's chill. I'm sure Basilio would be willing to share some body heat with you on a cold Feroxi night, gods know the oaf needs it!"

Walter leaned over to swat the impertinent woman, but she leapt out of his reach, laughing raucously. "I will have you know," Walter growled, torn between loathing and honest amusement, "That I am very decidedly not interested in other men."

"Oh?" Flavia asked, before sidling up uncomfortably close to Walter. "Perhaps you'd like to go a round with me, then? I'll give you fair warning: I'm more woman than most men can handle."

Walter began to feel the pressure in his head building from how crimson his face had become, and he yelped in a most undignified manner as Flavia's hand found itself on his leg. He quickly thrashed, and Flavia leapt away from Walter's next attempt to hit her.

"By God," Walter groaned. "I had thought Ylisseans mad, but the Feroxi are beyond unhinged!" he declared.

"Khan Flavia, your conduct is most inappropriate," Phila interjected, her own face red as well, for some peculiar reason.

"Oh, I get it!" Flavia declared, a twisted grin adorning her face as she rounded on Phila. "You're jealous!"

"W-what?" Phila stuttered, going pale. "I assure you I feel nothing of the sort! What occurs between you and General Walter is your own business-!"

"Relax, Captain," Flavia purred, darting around Walter and Rickard to pull up next to her. "I'm flattered. Truly. I've only gotten to know one woman intimately, and I was quite drunk at the time, but I like to believe myself open-minded. If you want me for yourself, I suppose I can give it a shot."

"W-what?" Phila squealed in a most un-knightlike manner. "N-no, that is not what I meant!"

Flavia pulled away from the flabbergasted Captain, laughing so violently Walter would have been concerned for her health, had his mind been consumed by this most curious sensation of…anger? No, that wasn't quite it… he quickly pushed it from his mind. He'd sort it out later, assuming Flavia didn't take full leave of her senses and attack them all in a maddened frenzy.

"By the gods," Flavia choked out between laughs. "You two should have seen the looks on your faces!" Flavia cried, breaking down into more laughter. "You….hehe…you Ylisseans are so uptight!" She gigged mirthfully. "Ah, I needed that," she sighed contentedly as she regained control of her laughter, though she occasionally let out another burst of laughter.

"Do you see what you've done now?" a voice said behind them. Basilio had walked up, hefting his axe lazily on one shoulder. "You should never have championed this lunatic," he snorted. "You've doomed us all to this madwoman's tyranny. I heard her laughing, and that's never a good sign, so I came over in case she'd picked a fight with one of you for sport."

"You're just upset I won't settle for your wrinkly brown arse!" Flavia jeered, causing Basilio to roll his eyes.

"I would rather sleep with a bear," Basilio deadpanned. "You're nowhere near woman enough for my tastes."

Flavia grinned at the words; she apparently relished verbal duels as much as physical ones."You wouldn't know a woman if she walked up to you and shook her-"

"Could we please discuss something else?" Rickard interrupted tiredly, before adopting a concerned frown. "Like why one of our scouts is running back earlier than expected?"

That immediately sobered them up; sure enough, one of their scouts was sprinting along the road toward them, looking worried.

"Report, soldier," Walter commanded once the scout had reached them and caught his breath.

"Plegians, at the oasis," the scout said, still panting. "Only five of them, carrying a large box between them, in position near the oasis itself. One of their number matches the description of General Mustafa, but…well, they're just standing in the open, sire. We're deep within Gangrel's territory, and in my humble opinion, there is no sense in wanted fugitives standing in the open like that. I suspect a trap."

"An astute assessment, soldier," Walter nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"The townsfolk appear to be nervous, but have not fled the village or retreated to their homes," the scout added. "Beyond that, there is nothing else."

"Well done," Walter complimented. He obeyed the impulse that jumped into his mind, reached into his satchel, grabbed a gold coin, and tossed it in the scout's direction. The man was startled as it flew towards him, but managed to catch it nonetheless. "That was a fine report. Keep up the good work. Go to the supply wagons and rest."

"Th-thank you, sire!" the scout cried in disbelief, before running off.

"Bribing the soldiers, are we?" Rickard commented with amusement.

"That was an excellent report," Walter defended. "I'd have given half my pay to have scouts that observant back in the Emissaries."

"Besides, gold talks," Flavia added. "Word will get around that the General rewards excellent behavior, and those underneath him will work all the harder."

"So, bribing the soldiers, are we?" Rickard reiterated, even more amused this time.

"I suppose we are," Walter chuckled, before his face turned grim. "Let us go see if this is truly Mustafa. Perhaps we will accomplish our secondary objective after all."

000

"General Mustafa!" Walter called as he drew within proper sight of the Plegians, the Army at his back. He instantly recognized the old veteran warrior. "I am pleased to see you survived. I have heard of the fate of your wife and child; you have my condolences."

Mustafa's face crumpled for a second, before his resolve returned. "Thank you, Sir Walter," Mustafa finally said. "I owe you my life…what little it feels worth it, now that Sati and Hasan are dead... To repay this debt, I bring you a gift… though I hesitate to call it that," he finished gravely, gesturing toward the box his men were carrying.

"What is it?" Walter asked. He soon dreaded to know the answer to that question; he had seen many of similar boxes to this before. Granted, this one was far more ornate and high quality than most of the ones Walter had seen, but he could think of nothing else that it could be.

Mustafa confirmed his hopes and fears with his next words. "I present you with the body of Exalt Emmeryn," he stated clearly, a tint of sadness in his voice. Walter heard Phila give a strangled choking noise, and there was uproar from the soldiers behind him, but he continued facing Mustafa, his mouth slightly agape. "I have had her body prepared for presentation and burial, and her coffin enchanted to preserve her. As long as it is not opened for any considerable length of time, she will not rot for another month at least. I spared no expense in doing so; she sacrificed herself not just for Ylisse, but for Plegia as well. She has become a hero among the smallfolk of Plegia. Gangrel may have taken her life, but he has paid for this out of his own treasury…however unwillingly."

"General Mustafa…" Walter gasped. He knew the difficulty of preserving bodies, especially for months on end; it was no simple task. "That is…quite generous of you." He managed to choke out around his shock.

"That is not all," Mustafa continued. "I come here in person to pledge the Resistance to Prince Chrom's cause. Gangrel's tyranny has killed thousands and destroyed many more families other than the Exalted Line. Despite the history between our peoples, I believe we can find common ground in our desire to rid the world of that madman!" Mustafa's men cheered behind him, and Walter's echoed it. "Our swords are yours, Sir Walter. You need only bring us to bear against the Mad King."

This was everything Walter had hoped to gain, and even more that he had never imagined…Prince Chrom could finally, truly bury his sister. Phila could properly mourn her. The halidom had their Exalt back…dead or alive, it was a true blessing.

"I humbly accept," Walter answered without hesitation. "This time tomorrow, we will celebrate the liberation of the Ylissean continent from that lunatic's ambitions!"

"Hear hear!" Basilio roared. Almost everyone else roared their agreement

"The villagers here chafe under Gangrel's direct control," Mustafa said, "and thus have agreed to shelter us for the night. The rest of the Resistance camps nearby; well over three thousand men at arms. We will fall in with the rest of your Army in the morning."

"Your foresight and consideration are humbling, General Mustafa," Walter said, trying to make clear in his tone exactly how much he really was grateful. The man had gone above and beyond with all of this. Walter then turned to Rickard. "Captain, arrange an honor guard to…take possession of the Exalt's body," he said quietly. Rickard nodded solemnly, before turning about on his horse to gather the necessary men. "Khan Flavia, we make camp here," he said simply. Flavia nodded and dragged Basilio away, barking orders to the men to begin setting up camp. Walter trotted his horse over to Phila in their absence. She had clearly not heard anything past Mustafa's revelation that the box contained Emmeryn's remains.

"Phila, are you alright?" Walter asked concernedly. Phila did not answer, nor did she give any indication that she had even heard him. She simply stared numbly at the casket. He tentatively reached out and touched her shoulder, and the woman visibly jumped.

"G-General," Phila stammered, her face deathly pale, and she swallowed as she attempted to gain some composure. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

" _Phila_ ," Walter reiterated, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Are you alright?"

A single tear slid down Phila's cheek as she turned back to the casket, now being born toward them by the honor guard. "Walter, I…I had never imagined we would…" she began before trailing off.

"Nor did I," Walter agreed softly. "But we have her back, Phila. She has been returned to us."

Another tear slid down Phila's cheek. "Yet she is still gone," Phila said, her voice straining with grief as she watched the casket pass them by. "It is almost cruel, Walter. She lays there as we speak, yet I shall never hear her voice again. I shall never be there to give her advice, to guide her. I will never again see her beautiful smile, nor listen to her hopes and dreams for Ylisse's future."

"No," Walter admitted. "But her body was not put cruelly on display, as Gangrel threatened. She was treated with all of the respect and dignity she deserved. She may be gone, but her deeds and legacy live on. She died beloved by all."

"Walter," Phila started quietly, "I know General Mustafa said the casket could not be opened for any length of time, but…I wish to see her. To…to say my goodbyes."

"Of course," Walter replied. He then led her behind the honor guard as they were directed by Captain Rickard through the still unfinished camp. As the casket was borne past them, every soldier dropped whatever they were doing, and saluted as the casket passed. Walter was relieved to note that the logistics train had been informed, and the first thing they had set up was the small Altar of Naga that was available for soldiers to pray at; it was as close to a holy place as one could come in the field. As the pair dismounted, the honor guard gently laid the casket before the altar.

Walter leaned over to Rickard as they approached the casket. "Some privacy would be preferable," he muttered quietly. Rickard nodded, before gesturing the soldiers to obstruct the view of the casket with several of the supply wagons. It was not much, but it was all they could do.

Walter and Phila came to a halt before the casket; the Pegasus Knight's face was pale and drawn.

"Part of me doesn't wish to see her like this," Phila whispered hoarsely.

"We do not have to open the casket, if you do not want to," Walter offered. "Emmeryn would not begrudge you that."

"No," Phila responded miserably, before some of the steel returned to her voice. "I must do this."

"I understand," Walter said simply, before gripping the ornate handle of the casket. "Are you ready?"

"In truth, I am not," Phila answered miserably. "One can never truly prepare for something like this," she said bitterly, before taking a deep breath. "Open it."

Walter obliged wordlessly. He pulled up on the handle, and the lid of the casket swung up. Phila let out a choked sob, and began shaking. Walter wrapped his arm around her shoulder to comfort her, as he gazed down upon the still body of Emmeryn.

She looked far better than he would have thought. Whoever had prepared the body had done so with great care. Her clothing, the same robes she had worn that day, was pristine, as if they had never touched blood or dirt, despite falling into the remains of a dusty battlefield. Her hair cascaded down behind her shoulders, free of the ornate hairstyle she had worn in life. It looked strange to Walter, having only ever seen her with her hair done beautifully, but he supposed it was fitting; she had finally earned the right to relax. Walter could see no bruising or blemishes, aside from one barely-noticeable scar on the left side of her forehead; that one was not from the fall, but from the stone she had been struck with as a child. If one did not know better, they could almost swear she was sleeping.

Walter knew better, however. She would never wake up.

Phila sobbed more openly now. Slowly and haltingly, but sobbing all the same. She reached a trembling hand down into the casket, and gently stroked Emmeryn's cheek.

"She's so…cold," Phila stated numbly. "Her skin is like ice."

Walter glanced about the coffin, and could see a fine mist clinging about the edges. "The coffin is lined with enchanted ice," he explained. "The cold prevents decay from setting in."

"I see," Phila said absently, before a particularly strong sob wracked her body. "She's gone, Walter," Phila sobbed, almost incoherently. Walter's heart broke a little bit, hearing the agony in her voice. "I knew that logically already, and I have already wept until I thought I was spent of tears, but…but seeing her, like this, I…I…she's _gone_!" Phila cried miserably. Her resolve could hold out no longer; she broke down fully into tears, collapsing to her knees.

Walter gently closed the casket, before kneeling down next to Phila, wrapping his arm around her again. Phila clutched to him miserably, weeping openly with no care or thought spared for someone overhearing. Walter's heart broke fully, seeing such a strong woman broken like this. As he stroked Phila's head soothingly, lost for words, his thoughts turned to Chrom. How would the Prince react? The man had been inconsolable and enraged the first week of the retreat; this would just reopen those wounds. And what of Lissa? She would be just as broken as Phila, likely more so. He knew Frederick was fond of the Exalt as well, and though his brain could scarcely comprehend the idea, he knew Frederick would weep just as openly. All of the Shepherds would, he realized sadly. He distantly registered tears sliding down his own cheeks, even.

As Phila continued to sob into his armored chest, Walter felt a fury ignite in him. _Gangrel_! He howled within his mind. _What right did you have to do this!?_ Walter mentally cursed the Mad King. _You homicidal lunatic! You will pay dearly for all the lives you've ruined! You will not survive the coming battle, I swear it on the Lord himself!_

Eventually, Phila's sobs quieted down; Walter looked down to see that she had passed out, her face contorted in misery as she slept. Carefully, as not to disturb her, he lifted her into his arms. The Altar of Naga, and Emmeryn's body, had been placed in the center of the camp; the commanders' tents would be…northward, inside the inner ring of tents. Not far. He cautiously made his way over to them, and located Phila's quickly. One of the soldiers had taken the liberty of setting up Captain Phila's tent and cot, and Walter carefully ducked down inside the tent, before placing her gently on the cot.

"Walter," Phila grumbled. Walter cursed; he had been as gentle as possible, but had still wakened her.

"Yes, Phila?" Walter responded softly.

"Would you…remain here tonight?" she asked, her face consumed with grief. "I… I cannot stand to be alone right now."

Walter hesitated for a second. The last thing he needed to do with all of these rumors flying about was- he mentally slapped himself. _The woman is grieving, you dullard!_ He berated himself. _Damned be the soldiers and their wagging tongues. Your friend needs you!_

"Of course," Walter responded, kneeling down next to her cot and placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. "I am here for you, Phila."

Phila's hand drifted up and grabbed hold of Walter's. "Thank you, Walter," Phila replied, a sad smile appearing on her face. "You are a good friend." With that, the exhaustion took hold of her, and she passed out again.

Walter remained like that for an indeterminable period of time; kneeling by Phila's bed, his own hand trapped in her own, and unwilling to try to liberate it for fear of waking her. Eventually, he decided to sit down completely. Before Walter knew it he was drifting off to sleep himself.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

 **The Mad King's Lament**

"This is it, then," Walter said soberly as he dismounted his mare.

"Yes, it is," Phila replied coldly, dismounting her own mare, and a soldier led them away. Her and Walter's horses were not destriers; they were for riding, not for battle. "The Mad King dies today. I will gut him myself, if I see him."

Walter glanced at Phila worriedly. She had woken up that morning in a cold rage. Walter had thought his own fury nothing to scoff at, but he found himself legitimately terrified of her; he never wished to see her like this again, and most certainly not directing this sheer, glacial anger at him. She had spared enough softness to thank him for staying with her, before the iron mask had fallen. Her responses to every sentence uttered to her were short, concise, and underlined in ice. Her expression never shifted from the determined, angry grimace that currently adorned her face.

"The tyrant's reign ends now," Mustafa spat from his side. Where Phila was as frigid as the peak of Mount Levantz, Mustafa's fury burned like dragon fire. Walter could blame neither of them, of course; Phila had said before that she loved Emmeryn as her own, and Mustafa had lost his own wife and child. He just hoped their anger wouldn't distract them from the mission.

"Stay focused, and we shall give the bastard his just desserts," Rickard said, his tone grave. "We need only wait for Prince Chrom to arrive."

And so they waited. They sat atop a hill overlooking Castle Sable; it was a daunting fortress, though it was certainly no Castle Plegia. The fortress was surrounded by the sparse vegetation and rocky outcroppings that Walter had come to associate with the Plegian highlands. Rickard had supplied that these highlands were the primary hunting grounds of the wild wyverns that haunted the mountain range. The lack of abundant wildlife paid testimony to that. That may also have been due to the thousands of Plegian soldiers occupying the space around the fortress.

Walter was disconcerted to learn that, despite Mustafa's mutiny shattering Gangrel's army from nearly a hundred thousand (a number that had turned Walter's blood cold; they almost numbered as high as the Ecclesian Army had!) to a relative handful, he had still amassed fifteen thousand men at arms to fight them. He realized this was likely all of Gangrel's strength in one area, but their own troops barely numbered thirteen thousand. The Ylissean Army had more soldiers overall, yes, but the other divisions, numbering a mere five thousand in each of the three, were scattered across the plains near the mountain range, to hold back any Plegian surprise attacks. If they fell here, those divisions would be all that stood between Gangrel and Ylisse. If Gangrel managed to assert his control over Plegia again, Ylisse would be in grave danger, Feroxi aid or not.

This battle would decide the outcome of the war, and the fate of the continent. Walter looked out, and saw the standard of Gangrel himself at the center of the Plegian Army:

"Here they come!" Flavia shouted cheerfully beside Walter, pointing excitedly to the east. "Finally, we can get this battle underway! I need to kill something!"

True to Flavia's word, Walter saw Chrom, Frederick, and Robin crest the edge of a hill a short distance away, followed shortly by the other Shepherds. Walter noted with some amusement that Frederick bore a banner with the Brand of the Exalt, the banner pole fitted to the back of his breastplate. The Shepherds quickly closed the distance, but Phila grabbed Walter's arm suddenly as Chrom approached.

"Do we tell the Prince?" Phila whispered worriedly, the first emotion besides that glacial fury that had entered her voice all day.

"No," Walter said sadly as the man himself approached. "He cannot afford the distraction now."

"Walter, it's good to see you again!" Chrom shouted, grinning madly as he approached. "How fares the Army, Grand General?" he asked in an almost mocking tone.

"If I had wished to die, I would have simply surrendered at Nowart," Walter replied crossly, though his tone carried a hint of mirth. "I wish to live, Prince Chrom. I beg of you, rescue me from the parchment-consuming monstrosity that you call an Army!"

Chrom and Robin laughed uproariously at this, and Walter adopted a stern frown, though one corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.

"I'm glad to see you're acclimatizing," Chrom said as his laughter died down, though a large grin now adorned his face. "I assume there were no issues?"

"Aside from my own personal views of this Army's practices and procedures, no," Walter answered cheekily. "We are rested and strong, even despite the hundreds of pounds of parchment our beleaguered soldiers have been forced to lug around. We stand ready to charge on your command…provided we do not need to sign more forms in triplicate."

"I get it, you don't like paperwork!" Chrom laughed. "I'm glad to hear that we're ready, at any rate." Chrom turned to look at the others, but his face paled as he beheld the newest addition to the Army's command staff. "General Mustafa," he greeted quietly. "I am… glad to see that you are well."

Mustafa walked up to Chrom, positively towering over the comparatively tiny young man, his expression neutral. Frederick and Robin's eyes each narrowed, and their hands drifted toward their weapons. Before either could draw their weapons, however, Mustafa clamped his arms around the man, squeezing briefly before letting go.

"Water under the bridge, lad," Mustafa muttered quietly, before clapping his hand on Chrom's shoulder. "I understand how you were feeling, and I do not blame you. I might have even done the same in your shoes. My own rage burns now, after what the Mad King has done. What matters is that we are both alive, and ready to end Gangrel's reign. Together."

Chrom smiled, both relieved and touched. "Together," He affirmed. He then turned back to the others. "All of us, together, stand ready to end the threat of King Gangrel. We will not fail!"

"For Ylisse!" Frederick shouted. Seconds later, the Ylissean soldiers behind them echoed the call.

"For Plegia!" Mustafa roared; his own men roared with him.

"For Regna Ferox!" Flavia and Basilio cheered. The Feroxi chanted some war cry in their own language.

"For the entire damned continent!" Robin shouted sarcastically, earning laughs from everyone.

"For peace!" Chrom finished, earning a last roar of approval from everyone. He then drew Falchion, and pointed it toward the remnants of Gangrel's army. "Forward!" he cried, before turning and charging toward the Plegians. A second later, the fifteen thousand strong members of the Allied Army were charging after him. Walter almost chuckled as he heard Flavia's ecstatic laughter carrying over the din.

Walter, Phila, and Rickard hung back, however; their place was not the front line, but to command the Army, much to Walter's consternation. He had commanded hundreds of men before, of course, but never so many that he could not fight alongside them. Robin stayed behind with them, and Walter was thankful; the man was a veritable strategic genius, and much more familiar with this world's military structure. He could see the man's eyebrows furrow in concentration, and he cupped his chin. "May I make a suggestion, General Walter?" Robin asked seriously.

"You can bloody well take command," Walter responded bluntly. "I have always led from the front; sitting at the rear of formations like this has never sat right with me, not as my men die around me."

"Unfortunately, you can't do that," Robin sighed. "I'm not a political man, but even I can see the backlash we would all suffer for you passing off command to an untested stranger…But there's nothing saying we can't move forward with the men."

Walter smiled. "Very well then. Give me your recommendations as we march." With that, Walter drew his weapon and began jogging forward. Still too far from the front lines for his tastes, but that would be remedied soon enough. The rest of the lower-ranked command staff jumped as their General took off, and struggled to keep up.

"Our left flank is looking too loose," Robin rattled off as he followed, drawing his battered old tome from within his coat. "The archers should stop closer to the battlefield, to save time on readjusting their positions." The front lines met the Plegian ranks with an ear splitting crash, even at their distance. "The cavalry needs to disengage, they're getting bogged down."

"Close up the left flank!" Walter shouted. Several captains saluted, and went off to direct their men. "Order the archers as close to the melee as is safely possible, and have them cover the cavalry; they're bogged down, and the enemy wyverns are starting to target them!" Once more, officers saluted, and ran off to carry out his orders. _Just like old times,_ Walter thought wistfully, thinking of his time in the Emissaries.

"And order our mages to focus their fire on the wyvern riders as well," Walter shouted as he noticed the wyvern riders becoming even more aggressive. "They are weak to magic, and need to be removed from the field." With their air support totaling a paltry two Pegasus Knights, they could not afford to let the Plegians have air superiority. "I want this battle to stay on the ground!"

"Right away, General," the Mage captain saluted, before running off.

"There!" Phila shouted as they caught up to their own lines. "Gangrel's banner!" Walter followed her outstretched finger, and growled; there indeed was Gangrel's golden standard. Walter frowned in concern as he noticed a standard with the Brand of the Exalt nearing it, the one Frederick had mounted on his back; Chrom was about to encounter Gangrel.

"To the Prince!" Walter shouted to the men around him. "With haste!" With that, he began pushing himself into the men in front of him. He did not want to leave Chrom to face the Mad King alone.

"I don't think so," a sultry feminine voice called out. A second later, a violent eruption of dark magic blossomed in front of him; Walter cursed as seven men were thrown from the blast zone, screaming in agony. The dark magic then pushed outward, barely missing Walter as he scrambled out of its way. Once the magic stopped, Walter noticed it had seared a small arena of sorts into the soil, nearly fifteen yards across and bordered on all sides by malevolent looking black flames; he could see Robin and Rickard searching desperately for a way past the flames. He turned his gaze upward, to see Gangrel's consort Aversa, mounted atop a pegasus.

Walter frowned as he beheld the creature. Every pegasus he had ever seen had been a pure, glowing white. This one, however, had a coat that almost appeared to be made of tar; slick, almost shining, but so unsettlingly black that it sent shivers up his spine. The creature's eyes were dark red in color, almost the shade of blood, and the beast twitched and jerked erratically; the pegasus was obviously driven to madness. This must be one of the Dark Fliers that Phila had told him of. The creature looked wholly…wrong to Walter. Like looking at a reflection of oneself, but seeing something else entirely looking back at you.

"What have you done to that poor creature!?" Phila cried indignantly next to him. Walter was relieved to see that she had avoided the blast as well. Unfortunately, the blaze had cut them off from the other soldiers; they were alone with Aversa.

"Oh, this beast?" Aversa asked flippantly, before shrugging. "I've had her for a while, she's such a good little pet. She's lasted much longer than the others did, at any rate. What of it?"

"You…you know very well what I mean!" Phila roared. "You have tortured that poor creature, corrupted it!"

"Hardly," Aversa scoffed. "I have simply made her stronger. You and your worthless traditions... you sanctimonious Ylisseans fear true power, and condemn all who refuse to partake in your cowardice. You even shy from utilizing the natural light magic normal pegasi possess! My mount is far more powerful than any other pegasus alive! Perhaps you would like a taste?" she purred. Aversa then gathered magic into her hand, a seething mass of darkness that set Walters hairs on end even from that distance. The pegasus itself began to…well, "glow" wasn't the right word to Walter. There was no light to this creature, not anymore. As the creature whinnied madly, an aura of pure, black energy flared around it, feeding Aversa's spell even further. Within seconds, the orb of energy had gone from the size of a fist to the size of a large melon. Grinning cruelly, she flicked her hand almost lazily, sending the spell careening toward Phila. So distracted was Phila by the pegasus' pitiful, maddened cries that she hardly noticed the spell being fired at her. She began to move too late.

Walter rushed into Phila from the side, however, knocking her clear of the spell. He kept his eyes on her briefly, to ensure she was alright, before he began to turn to block the spell. Walter braced himself as the hairs on his neck stood up; the spell was too close, he knew, and he would not be able to dodge or block. This was going to hurt

Even as he continued to spin, futilely hoping to get his shield up in time, the spell connected with his right arm. An eruption of black flame blossomed into existence from the impact point, and the pressure of the explosion threw Walter bodily into the air. Walter cried out in agony as the black flames scorched his arm, even through the armor, before landing with a painful groan on the ground; his mace skidded away from him. Not that Walter thought he would be able to lift it anyway; his arm screamed at his mind in pain.

"Aw, how sweet of you," Aversa taunted as Walter clutched his burning arm in agony. "Ever the gallant knight, aren't we? I remember watching you so desperately try to save that woman at the Castle; when I'm done toying with you and send you to your false gods, I'll gladly send her your way next. I'm sure you would two lovebirds would enjoy-aargh," she cried in agony as a throwing javelin collided with her left arm, the one holding her spellbook. The tome dropped to the ground once free of its owner's grip, and the pegasus thrashed wildly; the javelin had clipped its wing when it flew past, and the creature now struggled to stay aloft.

"Be careful who you 'toy' with, harlot," Phila snarled, before drawing her regular lance. She shot a worried glance at Walter, keeping one eye on Aversa as the woman cursed and spat, struggling to remove the javelin's head from her arm and stay mounted with the pained flailing of her mount. "Are you alright?" Phila asked worriedly, bending over Walter and looking at his arm nervously.

Walter grimaced in pain, and shook his head. "My arm," he said. "it burns, but not in the same way fire does… it is cold, colder than ice." Walter ripped off his gauntlet, and noticed that his hand, while spared the direct impact of the spell, was already turning a sick purple color from the effects of that spell. "Whatever fell magic this witch uses, it is nothing to be trifled with. I do not think my arm will be useful from here on out." He attempted to flex his hand, but abandoned the attempt as a spike of pain shot through his arm.

"The mouthy whore is disarmed," Phila said reassuringly. "Her mount is injured as well. We need only-" Phila cried out in pain as another spell collided with her shoulder; Aversa had managed to remove the javelin, and glared down at Phila's now-prostrate form in hatred.

"I don't need my tome to kill you," Aversa seethed, clutching her injured shoulder. "And this beast will take more than a simple wound to the wings to fell! I will enjoy watching you both-" Aversa cried out in pain again as Walter struck her with a lightning spell from his shield hand. Walter smirked as the voltage jumped between Aversa and her mount; he had guessed that the witch had somehow made the pegasus survive on dark magic instead of light, and that had lessened the beast's resistance. Walter had not spared any power in that spell; within seconds, the dark pegasus began dropping from the sky, whinnying in abject pain. The beast collided with the dirt with an audible thump, and Aversa was thrown from the saddle, rolling to a stop a few feet away.

Walter frowned as the sorceress struggled to her feet; She was clearly a skilled mage, if she could survive such a spell. Even as her mount lay on the ground, thrashing wildly, she strode over and pulled a finely crafted, short handled silver lance from a holster on the saddle.

"What, you thought that pathetic spell would be the end of me?" Aversa scoffed at Walter's concerned expression, before sparing a dispassionate glance at her mount. "You think I cannot fight unless mounted? You are most certainly wrong on that count."

"You will die all the same, hag," Phila spat, limping up beside Walter. He looked at her in concern; her shield had been discarded and she held the lance in her injured arm tenderly, but she simply nodded once. Walter trusted her judgment.

"We shall see about that," Aversa spat back, before preparing a spell in her injured hand, and launching it at Phila. Walter quickly stepped in front, letting his shield absorb the blow; unlike his armor, his shield had been enchanted by the most skilled bishops in the Ecclesian Church, and resisted all but the strongest spells. The dark energy splashed harmlessly against the surface and dissipated, with no injury to either of them. Aversa narrowed her eyes at the display.

"Stay behind me," Walter muttered quietly so Aversa couldn't hear. "I will defend, you can attack."

"Right," Phila said. With that, Walter began marching forward, shield raised, Phila directly behind him. Aversa began stalking forward herself. When the three were within striking distance of each other, they began circling each other slowly. Walter could hear the encouraging shouts of the soldiers beyond the dark barrier; Aversa turned and glared at them, but it made little difference. He noticed Robin, however, staring at the woman slack jawed, completely out of sorts. He made a mental note to ask him about that later…if they survived.

Aversa made the first move; a swift, deadly jab with her lance, aimed for Walter's injured arm. Walter blocked it with practiced ease, and Phila took the opportunity to jab her own lance in return. The head of the lance skated past Walter's ear at an uncomfortably close distance, but he trusted Phila not to cut him. Aversa cursed at the unexpected counterattack, and just barely managed to duck aside. She then leapt backward and cast another dark spell, which Walter again blocked. Walter advanced forward again, Phila still behind him.

Aversa quickly found herself on the defensive. Walter advanced relentlessly, stopping only long enough to parry or block her attacks. Whenever they were in range, which was quite often with Walter's aggressive pace, Phila would stab at the witch in a flurry of precise strikes; it took Aversa no small amount of skill and luck to avoid them all. Aversa attempted to counterattack, but this was not like facing one opponent with a shield and lance; even as Walter blocked, Phila was able to retaliate, whereas a single soldier would have to pick between one and the other. Even so, Walter found himself taxed; Aversa was quite proficient with that lance of hers, and tended to launch her spells wherever and whenever Walter was least prepared to block them. Phila's labored breathing in his ear told him she was tiring as well, doubtlessly because of the effort it must have taken to thrust her lance with a burnt arm.

Walter's eyes narrowed as he spotted an opening; After one hasty attempt at a dodge from Phila's strikes, Aversa had become just slightly off-balance. Walter surged forward, surprising even Phila, and swung his shield in a backhand. Stunned by the sudden aggression, Aversa did not move in time, and received the full force of the blow on her jaw. Walter's shield rang clearly as it connected, and Aversa stumbled. He then released a fireball at her point blank, and it struck the sorceress in the chest. Aversa screamed in agony as the spell blew her backwards, and she tumbled ungracefully past her still writhing mount.

"Prepare to face the Lord's judgment!" Walter barked as he and Phila strode brazenly toward the groaning sorceress.

"I bow to one god alone, and that is Master Grima," Aversa snarled weakly as they drew near.

"You will see which of us has the right of it shortly, I suppose," Walter said coldly as they stood over the witch, and Phila raised her lance.

Before Phila could strike, however, a thunderous cheer sounded from nearby. Walter looked toward the source of the noise… _that is where Chrom would have confronted Gangrel!_ Walter thought worriedly. Had Chrom bested the Mad King…or had the opposite happened?

"It appears sad little Gangrel has sung his last lament," Aversa chuckled faintly from the ground.

Walter's brow furrowed his confusion as he looked back down upon Aversa. "You appear to have little faith in your King, concubine."

Aversa just laughed amusedly, furrowing Walter's brow further. "His death was foretold. Gangrel's death is but the first of many that will lead to the end of mankind," she said ominously. "All but the most faithful will be purged from the earth. Prepare yourselves, Ylisseans; your time will come soon." Even as Phila drew back again in preparation to silence her, there was a blinding flash. When Walter's vision cleared, naught remained of Aversa but the faintest traces of runes; she had teleported to safety.

"Insane hag," Walter dismissed shortly thereafter, before surveying the battlefield. He smiled as he saw the Plegian soldiers around them surrendering en masse; Chrom had indeed slain the Mad King.

"It's over," Phila said almost disbelievingly as she witnessed the same thing Walter was. "We won."

"Yes, we have," Walter affirmed. What he was going to say next, however, was cut off by a frantic whinny. Aversa's perverted mount yet lived, thrashing wildly about the earth. "What should we do about that pegasus?" Walter asked soberly.

"It…it would be best to put it down," Phila remarked sadly. "None have ever succeeded in reverting a pegasus from this state, especially one so far gone. The poor creature is beyond our help."

Walter frowned as he looked at the pegasus. The beast continued to thrash madly, apparently panicking that it had been left behind by its mistress. Despite the effects of Walter's spell wearing off long ago, it had still failed to regain its footing; it was truly a pitiful sight. But something about it…compelled Walter.

"No," Walter said resolutely. Phila looked at him curiously. "I will heal this poor beast."

"Walter," Phila rebutted sadly, "There is nothing to be done. That witch has so far befouled this pegasus' body that it is beyond recovery, to say nothing of its mind and soul. You will only prolong its torment."

"I will not doom this creature," Walter said stubbornly. "I look at this creature, and I almost…see myself in it. I have told nobody of this, but I had nearly fallen to the Ancient Heart myself." Phila looked at him, surprised at the admission. "The artifact was strong, and with the burden my crimes had placed on my soul, I had begun to buckle beneath the strain. Toward the end I…I was possessed of dark, murderous thoughts," he admitted. "The Heart was…alive, in a manner of speaking. It implored me to slay all around me, to seize its power, to rule all of Bersia. It filled my head with images of blood and death, power and glory, pleasure and comfort, anything it thought it could use to tempt me. At first, I could resist, but as the days wore on, my resolve began to crack." He shook his head. "It was Justino that saved me. He begged of me to part from the Heart, to pass it to another even for a day. But I could not; I did not wish to risk the lives of my men, and then possessiveness overcame me. We…fought," Walter sighed miserably. "I had nearly killed him before I came to my senses. At that point, I begged of Justino to free me from it. I sent him ahead to the Altar, while I delayed our pursuers in Brimstone Forest. He took the Heart with him. When I met him at the Altar, he was so…drained, despite only having a day's lead. We did not need to speak of it; I knew his burden, his pain, and he then understood mine. He gave it back to me as soon as he could."

"I had no idea," Phila said quietly after Walter was silent for a moment. "You always seem so…resolute. Strong willed. It beggars belief that your will could crumble so quickly, and from what you say of Justino, he was equally strong. Was this Ancient Heart truly so terrible?"

"Beyond description," Walter affirmed as he continued to observe the beast's maddened flailing. "It is an artifact of the Devil, its power has altered the course of Bersia's history more than once before. It turned my stomach to take possession of it again when I arrived at the Altar, and it pressed against my mind during the entire battle. But as I see this poor creature thrashing before us, I see myself, floundering beneath the crushing influence of the Heart. I cannot stand by in good conscience and doom this beast to death, not when others suffered and died to save my own life, my own mind. Not when the Exalt and Prince Chrom took me in and gave me a chance, even after learning my past. King Gerald, and many others I'm sure, would say the same things about me that you say about this pegasus, yet here I am, hopefully a better man than I once was. I am not sure I can succeed in curing this beast's condition, but I could not live with myself if I did not try. If I do succeed, I will care for it. You say that pegasi revile men, but even if it does accept me, I will do my best to ensure it remains alive and healthy."

Phila was silent for a long time, watching pitiably as the pegasus' thrashing began to die down, its exhaustion overcoming it. "I will help you," Phila said resolutely.

Walter turned to Phila curiously. "You will?" He asked, surprised. He had not expected her help, or even understanding. Walter himself had poor expectations for the result.

"Yes," Phila replied confidently as the beast finally passed out from its exhaustion. "Few know more about pegasi than I do, you will need my help. You are right; it is wrong to so casually sentence this poor creature to death. We must try, at the least."

Walter broke out in a genuine smile, one wider than most that he'd smiled since coming to Ylisse. "Thank you, Phila," he said softly, before turning to the soldiers around them. "Bind up this beast, and prepare it for transport!" He barked. With Aversa gone, her barrier of dark flames had died away, allowing the soldiers access to the battleground. Several of the men shot hesitant looks towards the General, but ultimately their discipline kicked in and they moved to obey his orders.

"Come, let us find the Prince and congratulate him on his victory," Walter told Phila.

Phila nodded in response, and they began walking toward the cheering soldiers ahead. "Walter," she said suddenly.

"Yes, Phila?" Walter responded.

"You _are_ a better man than you once were," Phila told him with a smile. "You've no need to doubt that."

Walter said nothing in response; he simply smiled as they broke through the crowd, reuniting with the rest of the Shepherds, who were all cheering for their victory against the Mad King. Gangrel's reign of terror had finally come to an end.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

 **Bittersweet Victory**

"We've won," Chrom stated quietly inside the war room of Castle Sable with Robin, Frederick, Lissa, the Khans, Walter, and Phila, "yet for some reason, I don't feel like celebrating."

"Victory can be bitter as well as sweet, boy," Basilio responded sagely. "It's good that you learn that now."

"Regna Ferox lost many good soldiers today," Flavia said, unusually sober. "We need to attend to our dead. Then we must see to the living, and rebuild our army."

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," Chrom vowed. "Ylisse will compensate you in whatever fashion-"

"Oh really?" Flavia interrupted with a small smile. "How about you just hand over the Fire Emblem and we'll call it even?" The entire room stared at Flavia incredulously, before the woman gave a short, barking laugh. "Just a little Feroxi humor," she assured placatingly. The others expressions eased. "Reparations will fall to Plegia; I've seen their treasury, they can well afford it."

"Pity the man that stands between Flavia and a full coffer," Basilio muttered, rolling his eyes, causing the others to chuckle and Flavia to slug the man across the arm.

Chrom then turned to Walter. "I heard you and Captain Phila battled Aversa?" he asked.

"Correct," Walter replied. His arm throbbed at the memory; Lissa had looked at the wound, even calling in Tharja to examine it due to her inexperience with dark magic wounds. He had been assured it would heal, but the process would be…slow. Tharja had taken one glance at the tome they had recovered and shuddered. That had concerned Walter; Tharja was many things, most unpleasant, but she was a woman of intense intestinal fortitude. "She was a formidable foe. I am not sure if I could have bested her alone."

"It's a good thing you weren't, then," Flavia replied, a sly grin appearing on her face. "I hear you two make quite the pair on the battlefield. Rickard described your fight together as 'poetic', in fact. Rumors aside, you two are clearly made for each other in one regard."

Phila and Walter both flushed at that, and their stuttering protests could scarcely be heard over Flavia's laughter. The rest of the Shepherds joined in…except Robin. The man's distant expression had not faded since the battle with Aversa, and he rarely responded to contact. He had taken possession of Aversa's tome after Tharja had refused anything to do with it; his thousand yard stare was concentrated squarely on the tome. Walter still intended to question the man about it later…

"Alright, that's enough," Chrom replied jovially. "Leave them alone, Flavia, you're going to drive them to an early grave with your incessant teasing."

"It's not my fault their skulls are so thick that we could make armor from them," Flavia retorted.

" _Anyway,_ " Chrom emphasized, "I feel it's high time we all return home. I don't know about the rest of you, but I look forward to a cold drink and a soft-"

"Chrom!" a voice shouted from the doorway. Sumia had burst into the room, looking panicked. Before anyone could speak, she blitzed across the room with a speed that frightened Walter, and latched onto the man with an hug that made Walter swore he heard bones crack. "I've been so worried about you! You look exhausted!"

"Sumia," Chrom struggled to get out through the stranglehold, "You're…choking…me…!"

"Are you hurt?" Sumia fretted, apparently not hearing Chrom's protests. "Grazed, even?"

"Uh, guys?" Lissa said pointedly as Sumia continued to fuss, the Prince's face turning a similar color to his hair, "Maybe we should give these two some space?" She then dramatically gestured to her hand…one particular finger on her hand, before pointing back to the Prince and Pegasus Knight.

"Yes, yes," Flavia replied. "Carry on, lovebirds!" she called, cackling madly, as the rest of them filed out. Walter spared one last look into the room as he left, and saw Chrom not-so-casually reach into his pocket as Sumia finally let go. They had just finished rounding the corner at the end of the long hallway when they heard an ear splitting shriek- one of excitement, not pain or fear.

"Planning this wedding's gonna be fun!" Lissa cheered.

"I'm looking forward to the drinks, myself," Basilio said with a grin.

"Well I'll be damned," Flavia said in mock shock. "We agree on something for once. Someone! Dispatch a scout to Regna Ferox! Basilio and I agree on something, the Northern Mountains must be thawing out and dragons walk the earth once more!"

"Well, to be technical," Walter supplied with an amused grin, "We do have a dragon amongst the Shepherds. Albeit it a thousand year old child, but a dragon's a dragon."

Flavia's face took on a mimicry of horror. "Oh gods, the world really is ending!" She tore down the hallway at that point gesturing madly. "Everyone, the world is ending around us! Find a lad or lass, take a drink, and enjoy your last hours on earth!" Basilio rolled his eyes at Flavia's antics as they followed after her, at a slower and less frantic pace.

"I am happy for Sumia," Phila said contentedly. "She is a sweet girl, and they deserve each other. I fear for how Cordelia will take this, however…"

"I wouldn't worry so much about that," Lissa replied cheerfully. "She's been getting pretty friendly with Stahl, and hasn't been leering at Chrom so much anymore. I think she miiiiiight have a crush on him."

"Cordelia does not 'leer', Princess," Phila said with a frown.

"Oh, she totally does," Lissa argued with a grin. "She's got that real intense stare too. I don't know _how_ Chrom hasn't figured it out yet. In fact, there are a lot of dense Shepherds around here…" Lissa then began to prattle on about the various budding romances she suspected were developing amongst the Shepherds (Though some were truly strange. Gregor and Miriel? Seriously? Or Frederick and _Panne,_ of all people? The man was terrified of any beast that wasn't a horse!).

"Oh, and there's a certain knight who's _unbelievably_ dense when it comes to that sort of thing," Lissa said, giving Walter a strange look.

"It is impolite to talk ill of Sir Kellam," Walter said with a frown. Kellam was the only knight that Lissa hadn't mentioned, though who she thought was interested in Kellam was beyond him; most of the Shepherds barely ever remembered he was around, Walter included. "He may be…difficult to remember or notice, but he is a good man."

"Oh good gods," Lissa groaned in exasperation, confusing Walter, "nevermind."

"I saw that devil-beast you captured," Basilio interrupted, changing the subject (much to Walter's relief; he was not one for gossip). "Are you going to make a trophy out of it? Keeping it fresh before you get it stuffed?"

Walter frowned. "No, we are going to try to cure it," he said.

"'We'?" Basilio asked. "Who else is on with that mad scheme? I'm no Pegasus Knight, but even I know a lost cause when I see one."

" _I_ am helping him," Phila replied hotly. Walter furrowed his brow in confusion as Lissa began giggling, and Phila's face tinged pink. _Ylisseans are insane, and the women doubly so,_ Walter thought bemusedly. "It is a noble goal, and could mean even more cured pegasi if we succeed."

Basilio held his hands up defensively "Alright, alright," he said soothingly. "I meant nothing by it. It's just that it doesn't look good."

"It doesn't," Walter agreed. "But nevertheless, we shall try."

"I hope you guys actually do it," Lissa said. "I noticed some hubbub in the camp near the Altar of Naga," she said suddenly, "Got any idea what that's about?"

Phila and Walter both stopped dead in their tracks; they had forgotten about Emmeryn's body in all the business surrounding the battle. As the others stopped to glance curiously back at them, Walter's face grew pale. Basilio's expression was similar.

"We need to go back and speak to Prince Chrom," Walter said somberly. "This is…well, I would call it good news, in a manner of speaking, but it brings little comfort."

000

Shortly thereafter, all of the Shepherds stood around the enchanted casket of Emmeryn. Rickard, Mustafa, and the Khans were with them. Most of the Shepherds maintained a respectful distance, but Chrom and Lissa stood directly next to the casket.

"How?" Chrom gasped hoarsely. "I thought for sure that Gangrel would have…"

"My men stole the body," Mustafa explained. "When Gangrel sent me to pursue you, I ordered some of my men to confiscate her body and hide it. When he learned of this, combined with my failure to stop you…"

Chrom turned around, his mouth agape. "Your wife…your child…you risked them for her?"

Mustafa nodded, his expression slowly becoming more miserable. "Yes," he replied. "I have always had great respect for your sister; I had even exchanged one or two letters with her. She was a far better ruler than Gangrel ever was, that was for certain. I couldn't bring myself to let that madman defile the body…" he trailed off, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I hadn't thought Gangrel would kill my family for that. I thought I would die trying to stop you, dissuading Gangrel from bothering to do it, and that nobody would discover who had ordered the body hidden…I was wrong on both counts, and Sati and Hasan paid the price for my misjudgment," he said, his voice beginning to crack.

Chrom walked over to the man and embraced him. "Thank you, General Mustafa," he said, his own voice thick. "The debt I owe you can never be repaid."

"You owe me nothing, Prince Chrom," Mustafa replied morosely, returning the embrace. "I blame no one but Gangrel, and you delivered the justice he deserved. I miss my wife and my son so terribly that it hurts, but they are at peace now. Just as your sister is."

Chrom and Mustafa parted, and the Prince returned to the casket. Lissa stood by it, sobbing quietly. "Emm…" Chrom muttered, barely able to be heard, "We did it. We stopped the war, we won it even…but we couldn't have done it without you. Your words and sacrifice resonated with the people of both nations like my own never could…Why did it take me so long to understand? You believed that all people desired peace. Even the Plegians, which I had begun to view as monsters, animals…but you believed in them anyway. You gave your life for this peace. I swear to you, I will do everything I can to live up to your example. I will do my best to lead Ylisse back to prosperity, to preserve this peace as long as possible. I…I only wish you were here to see it."

Robin walked forward and put his hand on Chrom's shoulder. "She _can_ see it," Robin said softly as Chrom turned, his eyes red and swollen. "Your sister's watching us, even now, and I know she's proud of you. We all are," he said, gesturing back to the rest of the Shepherds. "We're all here with you, Chrom, and we'll build this peace together, with Emmeryn watching over us the entire way."

"You're right," Chrom said, his voice growing stronger as he wiped his eyes. "Emmeryn is still with us, in spirit if not body. She'll make sure we stay on the right path. Thank you, Robin. You're a true friend." He turned to the rest of the Shepherds. "You all are," he said more loudly. "I could never have done this without any of you."

"Sure you could have, just not as stylish," Vaike called out, causing the Shepherds to chuckle a bit.

Chrom himself chuckled a bit before his expression grew serious. "I know I've already asked much of you all, but I must ask yet more. Building this peace will not be easy, and I will have to rely on all of you. Will you continue to stand with me?"

"C'mon, you don't need to ask stupid questions," Robin said lightly, punching Chrom in the shoulder. "We're with you, to the end." The rest of the Shepherds cheered their agreement.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you guys," Chrom said with a smile, before turning back to the casket one last time.

"Let's go home," he whispered.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

 **Homecoming**

The crowd was deafening as they entered the gates of Ylisstol two weeks later. Walter had thought himself used to the cheering of crowds for their returning saviors, but this was an entirely new level…perhaps the wars the Church had waged were not as popular as he'd thought. Regardless, even he found himself flushing under the boundless praise the citizens of Ylisstol screamed at them.

"It seems your fears about Chrom not being a beloved ruler were misplaced, Phila," Walter said as quietly as one could manage over the roar of the crowd.

"It would appear so," Phila said distantly. Walter frowned at that; Phila had been distant, almost cold since the battle. He put it down to her worrying about the befouled pegasus; they hadn't even decided what to call it yet…not that her seeming reluctance to speak to him had helped. What confused Walter more was that it was certainly targeted at him; she spoke with the others just fine.

"Why are you being so distant, Phila?" Walter asked her concernedly. "Have I caused somehow caused offense?"

Phila sighed, before giving him a strained smile. "I suppose not," she replied, sounding sheepish. "I apologize, I have been…distracted of late."

"It is no trouble, Walter said sympathetically. "I was just worried that I had done something to offend you. You are a good friend, Phila, and I would be quite lost without you." And that was true; he had grown to be quite fond of the good captain over the past couple of months, and would be lost as Grand General without her guidance. _She deserves the position more than I,_ Walter thought amusedly. He considered her one of his best friends, in the same league with Justino and Kendal. He wished he could have had them meet; they would be fast friends, he was sure of it. She fit Justino's tastes in a woman as well, so maybe the old stick in the mud (and that's saying something coming from Walter) would finally have learned to love something other than his duty…wait, why did that thought make him mad? He had always wished Justino would find himself a woman, so why…?

Phila didn't respond to him verbally, simply blushing heavily and turning back to face the front. She'd been blushing a lot too lately, particularly around him. Perhaps she was ill? Or perhaps he smelled bad, and repulsed her? One can only clean themselves so well in the field… He would ask to examine her later in case of illness. For now, they would simply enjoy the adoration of the crowd. The Army marched through the city, with the Shepherds at the head. He saw hundreds of young women screaming the Prince's name; he chuckled as he imagined the heartbroken looks they would doubtlessly have once they learned of his engagement to Sumia. Surprisingly, he saw a few shouting for Stahl, of all people, as well. Well, they would have to be disappointed as well; to Walter's very great surprise, Stahl had proposed to Cordelia the previous day, before all of the Shepherds at dinner. He laughed quietly at the memory of Cordelia's face turning the color of her hair, and Robin's loud groan as he handed two gold coins to Lissa; there was apparently a small betting pool going on regarding Lissa's romantic predictions. Walter found himself tempted to join, but refrained…for now. Perhaps he would bet against Gregor and Miriel; the only thing they had in common was being rather strange, and they weren't even strange in the same way. It was an easy bet, he was sure of it.

Walter was interrupted from his musings by Rickard's nudging arm; they had arrived at the Palace. Chrom would be proceeding to the second floor, where there was a balcony overlooking a _very_ crowded public courtyard. Chrom wished to address the people, and of course Walter was expected to be there, being the Grand General and all. The Princess, Frederick, Robin, Sumia, and Phila would be there as well.

They were quickly rushed into a small room upon reaching the second floor; a prep room, Walter surmised. Servants quickly scrubbed their hands and faces, applied heavy makeup to the women (or not-so-heavy for one particular silver haired woman, after her very vocal protests), and even took a polishing rag to their armor while it was still on them. Within ten minutes (and Walter was quite impressed by the speed) none of them looked like they'd endured a month's hard marching at all. His own armor sparkled brighter than it had since it had been forged, all those years ago. He had thought for certain that scorch mark on his pauldron could never be buffed out, but the magicians that Chrom had hired at the palace had achieved the impossible.

"Are you all ready?" Chrom asked the group as they stood up to walk out. "Because I'm certainly not." They all got a good laugh out of that.

"Just give hope and encouragement," Walter advised sagely. "It works well enough for me."

"I would listen to him," Phila advised with a grin. "He's quite the orator. One could assume he truly loves giving speeches; perhaps he should speak in your stead?"

"I really have done something to offend you, haven't I?" Walter grumbled, causing the other Shepherds to chuckle.

"Alright, enough teasing Walter," Chrom said as the laughter died down. "It's time." With that, Chrom led them onto the balcony.

Walter immediately decided that he liked this balcony; it gave a stunning view of Ylisstol, and the lake and mountains to the northeast. Perhaps he could request to move his office to this room? The people below him screamed adoration for their heroes, prompting Walter to feel an unusual bout of self-consciousness.

"People of Ylisse!" Chrom shouted. Almost instantly, the cheers died down. "I thank you all, for your support and love!" The cheers picked up briefly again, but died down as Chrom held his hand up. "We have fought hard for this day, and many lives have been given, but we have finally won peace from the Mad King!" The crowd cheered again. Walter wondered vaguely how long this would take, if the crowd cheered after every second word. "My sister once said that Ylisse was her first love; I'd thought her to be exaggerating or japing at the time," he chuckled. The crowd laughed with him. "But as I stand here before you all now, I can say that my beloved sister was most serious. I feel honored beyond words to stand before you, to receive such praise for the deeds that belong to all of you." The crowd cheered once more. Walter decided to simply tune them out. "I swear to you all, here and now, that I will do everything in my power to preserve this peace that we've won for ourselves, and build upon it! You, my people, deserve no less! So celebrate, Ylisse! Today is not just a victory for myself, or a victory for our Army, it is a victory for _you_! Today is the first step toward a brighter future!" If Walter had thought the crowd had been loud at the gates, they were a relative whisper compared to the thunder that greeted his ears.

"I also have an announcement to make!" Chrom said once the noise had died down to a tolerable level. "It is my great pleasure to inform you all that I have asked for the hand of Sumia of House Cain, that she may be my wife and your future queen!" Walter chuckled as his earlier predictions rang true, and the faces of many a young woman fell at the news as the rest of the crowd exploded. Chrom gently pulled Sumia forward, the woman blushing so furiously that she was bordering on turning purple. She gave a sheepish little wave to the crowd, which drove their cheers even further. Walter smirked as Sumia somehow managed to find enough blood to blush even further. The two gave a deep bow, before Chrom impulsively swept Sumia into a deep kiss. Walter had to cover his ears from the resulting cacophony. Robin was cackling evilly, and Lissa visibly groaned (he could hear neither over the crowd, of course) as she handed him his gold back; apparently he had bet that Chrom would do that. Phila was giving a maternal smile at the display. Eventually the two separated from each other, and Chrom led them back inside, the roar of the crowd barely fading.

"That wasn't so bad," Robin said, still grinning evilly.

"You only say that because you won your money back," Lissa muttered.

"No, I liked Chrom's speech," Robin said, clearly only half serious. "Nice and short, nothing too flashy."

"Gods, I hate speeches," Chrom groaned as he led them back into the Palace proper. "I never know what to say."

"Have Walter write your next speech," Phila encouraged with a smirk, causing Walter to glare at her. "As I said, he's quite the orator."

"I make it all up on the spot!" Walter argued.

"All the better then, you have natural talent," Phila chuckled.

"You know," Walter replied hotly, "when Justino died, I saw one silver lining; I would get away from his merciless teasing. Only to become entrapped by a tormentor far more cruel!"

"Sir Justino sounds like a wise man," Phila said with a dry smile. "I think we would have gotten along quite well."

There was that flare of anger again, Walter noticed. It went as quickly as it came, however, and he had no time to linger on it. "Indeed," Walter agreed half-distractedly as he tried to continue the conversation and parse the meaning behind his random spikes of anger. "Lord forbid he ever told you about my wedding reception. He never let me live down what happened with that bear…"

"Oh, really?" Phila asked curiously, her visage neutral. "What does a bear have to do with your reception?"

"Well, Ruth and I had gone outside for a spot of fresh air, and there was this cub playing in the fountain-" Walter froze as he realized what he was about to do. "Oh no you don't!" He barked as Phila's façade cracked and she began laughing. It was a rather pleasant noise, if Walter had to be honest, but he'd prefer it not be at his own expense. "I'm not reliving that story! Kendal is the only one who knows of it, and he would never speak of it! You will get nothing from me either!"

"Perhaps we could send the messenger Gerald's going to send to us back with a request for Sir Kendal then," Robin said, grinning himself. "After all, what better way to celebrate the discovery of an old friend than to embarrass them in front of their new friends?"

"He would do no such thing!" Walter insisted. That was a lie, however; Kendal was far more merciful on the whole when it came to his embarrassing tales, but when he got started, he was far more cruel than Justino had ever thought of being. And he just might spill the story, if he thought the result would be amusing enough…

"The look on your face belies that argument," Phila countered. "Yes, I do believe we'll send this Ebbard fellow back with the request."

"Ebbard isn't a courier," Chrom admonished, though grinning himself. "Gerald told us to send him if Ylisse was in danger, not if we wanted gossip from Walter's old friends."

"You hear that everyone?" Robin said loudly. "No fun allowed! By decree of the Prince!"

"Laugh it up guys," Chrom groaned, though still grinning, as the others broke into laughter. "Gods know we need a laugh, after all this," he muttered, his tone sober.

"Come now, love," Sumia said, wrapping her arm around his own. "Now's not the time for such thoughts. We're supposed to be celebrating!"

" _You're_ supposed to be celebrating," Chrom countered as they descended back to the ground floor. "The rest of us are supposed to be meeting with the Council now."

"We've already discussed this, I'm going too!" Sumia insisted.

"I won't argue, love," Chrom responded, "but you _will_ regret this decision. I doubt your father has ever given you a true picture of what Council meetings are like."

"And I'll have to find out eventually," Sumia rebutted. "It's better to get an early start on it, rather than get overwhelmed later!"

"Your betrothed raises a good point, Prince Chrom," Walter supplied. "My father was called to the Lord early, and I was quite suddenly thrust into his position. The transition was…unpleasant."

"Fine, fine," Chrom told them as they passed by the throne, _his_ throne, and he put his hand on the door to the Council Chambers. "I just wanted to give her fair warning. Are you all ready?"

"Ready as we can ever be to deal with a bunch of stuffed shirts," Robin huffed. "Let's just get it over with."

Chuckling quietly, Chrom twisted the handle, and the door to the Council Chamber opened. Taking a deep breath, Walter followed the rest inside.

The physical war was over; now the political war began.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

 **Politics**

The atmosphere in the Council Chamber was…tense. So much so that one could have sliced the air with a dull spoon, as the members all sat around the enormous oak table, eyeing each other. It was the first meeting of the Council with Chrom at its head, and Walter could already tell that some of them were unhappy with the Prince. A few more were unhappy with him as well. If he had to guess, the twelve representatives of Ylisse's high houses on the Council were split fairly evenly down the middle in regards to whether or not to support the new regime.

Walter recognized only one of them; Duke Themis was sitting on his direct left, and was quite obviously one of Chrom's supporters. On Themis' other side sat a chestnut-haired, heavily bearded man that Walter had been introduced to as Duke Cain, Sumia's father, who also supported the Prince (especially after the very-recently announced engagement; the man was beaming brightly at his daughter and her newly betrothed). Next to him was a red haired man with an all-too-familiar scowl, wearing a shocking red suit, and Walter immediately concluded that he was Duke Abel, Sully's father and one of the Division Generals of the Ylissean Army (who he realized at that moment was now one of his subordinates). Walter could not gauge who or what he was scowling at; perhaps Sully had inherited her perpetual scowl from him, and he was simply wearing his default expression. Next in line was Duke Sedgar, a shrewd looking, stern-faced old man who Walter was surprised to learn was Stahl's grandfather, pushing his ninetieth winter yet looking forty years younger than that if not for his wispy, stark white hair. Walter was not quite sure who the man supported; his shrewd, stoic expression was utterly unreadable, even for Walter. The man owned a chain of apothecaries, and Walter knew little else of him. Next was the surprisingly young, beautiful, raven-haired Duchess Grant, the newly-christened ruler of the Duchy of Grant, who was most decidedly _not_ a supporter of the Prince. Walter suspected she blamed the Exalted Line for her father's demise in the battle at the border, and his heart went out for her, even if he didn't approve of the rather short, irreverent greeting she'd given the Prince. Then there was Duke Vyland, a ginger haired, rat-faced, mouthy little _snake_ who had made his disdain for Walter, Chrom, and even Robin known _very_ quickly upon being introduced; he was a close, personal friend of Duke Thorne, and greatly resented both of their roles in his imprisonment. He simply hated Robin for being lowborn, as far as Walter could tell. Walter expected nothing but hostility and obstructionism from the man. Next was Duchess Astram, a benevolent-looking older woman who had greeted the both of them quite warmly, and had consoled Chrom on the passing of his sister. She was apparently a compromiser and a centrist, and Walter was unsure where her loyalties would fall, though he was gambling that she would side with the Prince. He was also surprised to learn that she was young Ricken's grandmother, managing the affairs of House Astram for her ailing husband. Walter knew not what had happened to Ricken's parents, other than that they were involved in a serious scandal that jeopardized the entire House's welfare and reputation. Then there was Duke Holzheim, a barrel-chested, chiseled-featured, dark haired man who owned most of the Great Forest. He seemed hostile to _everyone,_ but toward no one especially. Walter had a feeling the man didn't particularly care for politics, and could respect that at least. Next in line was the viridian-haired Duchess Gordin, a woman of around Walter's age who looked utterly bored out of her mind, but at the least seemed quite disdainful of Vyland, so Walter (hesitantly) counted her as an ally. There was Duke Draug, Frederick's father, a grizzled, balding old man who was glaring heavily at Walter; he was another of Thorne's staunchest allies, though he wasn't as vocal about it as Vyland was, and having Frederick vouch for him had softened the hostility further. Speaking of Thorne, young Rickard sat in his father's seat (given that his father was still imprisoned), still wearing his blue armor and running his hand nervously through his silver hair, eyeing his father's allies nervously. Rickard had clearly never been privy to the Council before, and his willing cooperation with Walter would make him a target for the elder Thorne's supporters. The last of the nobles was Duke Talys, Phila's father. He was a harsh-featured, perpetually frowning man of nearly sixty winters and little hair, who clutched a cane with a white-knuckle grip in one hand and impatiently tapped his fingers on the table with the other. Walter had hoped for an ally, given his friendship with Phila, but the terse way father and daughter had greeted each other had quite quickly dashed those hopes. He resolved to ask Phila about it later.

The nobility were not the only members of the Council, of course; there was Walter himself, the Grand General of the Army, with Captain Phila standing behind him as his aide (since Rickard had to abdicate that position during meetings), looking everywhere but at her father. On his right sat Princess Lissa, who was eyeing everyone nervously; even she could feel the tension. Lon'qu stood behind her by several paces, having been assigned as her personal guard (much to the gynophobe's chagrin). Beside her, at the obvious head of the table, sat Chrom; his posture was stiff and his expression stoic. Robin and Frederick flanked him on other side, standing slightly behind his chair. Frederick was here to guard Chrom, as ever, and Robin was functioning as Chrom's aid, and the moderator who presented the issues to be discussed. To Chrom's right sat Sumia, who was fidgeting nervously as the tension continued to slowly climb. The seat to her right was empty; it was reserved for the Hierarch of Ylisse, a position as yet unfilled after Pavel's treason.

"Alright," Chrom said with strained confidence, "this is my first time attending a Council meeting as its head, as you all know. I'd like to make these sessions as quick, painless, and peaceful as possible." Duke Holzheim grunted in approval, and Duke Talys snorted as if to say "like that will happen", but there were no actual remarks. "Robin, what is the first issue on the list?"

"Pardon me, sire," Vyland interrupted with an indignant look, "but what is that baseborn Plegian doing in our Council meetings? He could be a spy for the enemy!"

Chrom's gaze snapped to the Duke, and his eyes narrowed. "He is not our enemy," Chrom said pointedly. "He is a good friend of mine, and more importantly, he is our ally. His strategies are what won us the war."

Vyland scoffed. "Milord, you must see reason! The man claims to be a tactician, but he has no memory. Yet, he also claims to know his name, and has an admittedly masterful control of his spellcraft? How does he know all of these things if he has no memory? What other secrets is he hiding? The man's story is preposterous! He is almost certainly a Plegian spy!"

"Hold your tongue, Duke Vyland," Walter spoke up before Chrom could respond. All eyes snapped to him, but he didn't cave under the scrutiny. "Robin has done more for the halidom in his few months here than I'm sure you've ever done in your entire life. He deserves your respect, regardless of his nation of birth or his station, as does the Prince. Unless you have anything productive to add to this meeting, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

Holzheim broke into outright laughter, pulling all eyes to him as Vyland turned a rather nasty shade of indignant purple. "I like this new Grand General!" he chortled. "It's about time somebody told that arrogant fop off other than Talys and I! If this is what the new Council meetings are going to be like, I think I might actually begin to enjoy them!" He then continued laughing, a mirthful, thunderous sound, and a few others even joined him, albeit quieter.

"You go beyond yourself, 'General'," Vyland snapped back as he shot to his feet. "You've been in charge of the Army for less than two months, and think yourself important enough to talk down to your superiors!?"

"'Superior' indeed," Duke Abel threw out, his scowl fading for a moment in amusement. Vyland turned to glare at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Duke Talys next.

"This session's been going for nary a minute, and you're already in a pissing contest," the old man sighed, his deep baritone voice laden with exasperation. "Vyland, shut up and sit down. Holzheim, control your laughter, I've got a headache and you're aggravating it. Cain, shut up. Grand General, you shut up as well." Walter was taken aback by the incredibly blunt manner of speaking, and was actually rather amused by it, but acquiesced and kept his mouth shut. Vyland opened his mouth to speak again, but Talys merely pointed his cane at the man. Walter suspected that Talys had reprimanded Vyland before, and more physically, because the second the cane was raised, Vyland turned white and meekly sat back down. "Now, boy, Robin was it? Get on with it."

Robin had an amused smile on his face. "Very well, Duke Talys. The first issue on the list I compiled is…the date of Chrom's coronation as Exalt."

"Indefinitely postponed," Chrom answered, shocking the room. "Next issue?"

"W-what do you mean, indefinitely postponed?" Duchess Astram spoke up, clearly echoing the thoughts of the rest of the Council.

Chrom sighed in response. "My sister hasn't even been buried yet, Duchess Astram. I'll not assume her title until she's at rest. In fact…" he trailed off nervously, before steeling his resolve, "I do not intend on taking it at all. Not until I prove myself her equal. My sister sacrificed her entire life, both metaphorically and literally, for the halidom. In truth, I don't feel that I measure up, and taking the title of Exalt feels like…an insult to her memory, I suppose. The coronation is indefinitely postponed. Next?" He finished, looking back to Robin.

Robin raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Well, that was easy enough…next on the list is…" he gulped nervously. "We need to set the date for Exalt Emmeryn's funeral."

"I suggest we do it at the end of the week, in three days time," Walter suggested, pulling the attentions of the Council to him again. "First and most importantly because General Mustafa informed us that her body would only keep for a month, and that month ends during the middle of next week. Second, in my time here, I have learned that the Temple of the Divine Dragon and my own faith share the same holy day of rest each week, right at the end of it. Burying her on that day will give her the blessings of both our gods, as she rightfully deserves." Walter knew that those of virtue who had not had the opportunity to be told the Will of God were granted access to the Lord's Kingdom by default; Emmeryn was there already, he was sure of it.

"I agree," Duke Sedgar spoke up. "The week's end would be a fitting time; allowing the Exalt to finally rest, on the holy day of rest, is almost poetic. If doing so earns the blessings of other gods, even, what reason is there not to?"

"Does anyone disagree?" Chrom asked. Nobody spoke up, however; people were still uncertain of how sensitive the subject was for the Prince, and not even Vyland wished to make an argument of it. "Very well. Next issue?"

"Your wedding," Robin responded wryly, shooting a pointed glance at Sumia, who'd very obviously been the one to put that on the list.

Chrom turned a light shade of red and coughed a bit, shooting Sumia an incredulous glance. "Is…is that really a matter for the Council?" He asked no one in particular.

"It is, Prince Chrom," Duke Talys piped up. "The wedding ceremony and accompanying celebration are a very big political event, not just a holy one or a romantic one. We don't need to hash the details out here, mind you, and I doubt anyone here really wants to help plan the damned thing, but we at least need to know _when_."

"I…I see," Chrom stated, still blushing. "Well…how does five weeks from now sound, at summer's end?" he asked Sumia.

"I think it'll be wonderful!" Sumia squeaked excitedly, quite clearly barely restraining the urge to jump up and hug him. Walter felt pity and amusement in equal measure; Chrom clearly had no idea how stressful and time consuming planning a wedding was. This would be a hectic month for him.

"Hear hear!" her father echoed.

"Alright, I guess that's settled then." Chrom stated, his blush starting to fade. "Next?"

"Ooh, this'll be a fun topic," Robin said cheerily as he looked at the next item. "General Walter wishes to explain his plans for…" he paused for dramatic effect, which amused few but himself (not that that mattered to him), "the complete restructuring of the Ylissean Army."

The resulting cacophony of protests, counter-protests, shouting, and general belligerency nearly deafened Walter. He shot a sheepish look to Chrom, who simply rolled his eyes in amusement. They'd discussed Walter's ideas briefly on the way back to Ylisstol, and knew it wouldn't go over well. It took several minutes, and the threat of Talys' cane on an irate Vyland, to get the commotion to calm down.

"All of this arguing, and he hasn't even said what he plans to do yet," Robin noted with dry amusement.

"A fair point, Robin," Chrom chuckled. "Can we at least wait for Walter to explain himself before we scream ourselves hoarse?" He got twelve nods, several quite reluctant, before he turned to Walter. "Go ahead, General."

Walter cleared his throat, stood up, and began speaking. "There is no comfortable way to say this, so I'll just come out and say it: the Ylissean Army, particularly its command structure and logistics, is incredibly inefficient." The resulting outcry, led by a now infuriated Duke Vyland, was so deafening that it made the previous backlash seem like a whisper. It took Robin firing a lightning spell into the air to restore order. "I do not say this to be cruel or mocking," Walter clarified once the noise was at a tolerable level, "but because I am _gravely_ concerned. Prince Chrom, how many troops has King Gerald proposed to send to our aid in the treaty that you two tentatively discussed before his departure yesterday?"

"Twenty thousand," Chrom answered, looking confused. "Why is that relevant?"

"Because the Hironeiden Army's standard procedure is to spend no more than one fifth of its military strength defending territories that do not belong to Hironeiden," Walter answered gravely. The Council did not respond to that, their faces turning pale as the implications hit them. "This means that their total army is no less than one hundred thousand men at arms," he summarized for anyone who did not understand what he was saying, "Which is not counting their logistics corps, which they train for combat, or their civilians that can be conscripted."

"Such a massive army…" Duke Macellan gasped. "We cannot muster even a third of that!"

"No, we cannot," Walter agreed. "That is not the most troubling part, however."

"Yes, because being outnumbered four to one by a foreign leader with an axe to grind against our Grand General is something to scoff at," Vyland spat.

Walter ignored him. "The combined armies of Hironeiden and Ecclesia, which King Gerald now commands, have _always_ been outnumbered by the Dark Legion of Eastern Bersia. The leader of the Dark Legion, Regnier, has been to Ylisse. He was last seen in western Regna Ferox, and though King Gerald believes him to have returned to Bersia, I suspect that is not the case." Walter waited for the obvious meaning behind those words to hit home, before continuing. "In short, the opening of the Outrealm Gate has exposed the Ylissean continent to the potential invasion of multiple armies that, if attacking together, outnumber the combined armies of the entire continent. They also use more advanced strategies and gunpowder."

"What is 'gunpowder'?" Duchess Grant asked curiously.

"Gunpowder is a black powder that explodes when exposed to flame," Walter explained, receiving several skeptical or shocked looks. "Miriel, one of the Shepherds' mages, used a prototype gunpowder bomb to breach the gate of Castle Plegia. Gunpowder weapons carry enough destructive force to outright demolish castle walls." He heard muttering at that, some skeptical, but mostly worried. "I will say this now: as the entire continent stands, we would not last a year in open warfare with Bersia." The silence he received at that proclamation was deafening. "I say this not out of lack of faith in the Ylissean continent nor its people, but simply because we are _that_ outmatched."

"If we are so hopelessly outmatched, then what is your plan, 'General'?" Vyland spoke up. "How can we hope to fight against such overwhelming odds? Do you claim yourself such a miracle worker that you can do the impossible?"

"Our primary weakness is that the Ylissean Army is too slow, centralized, and cumbersome to react to Bersian maneuvers," Walter replied stoically. "I would change that, in addition to advancing our technology. I have discussed things with Miriel, and she will be working with the Order of Mages and several notable scholars to develop our own gunpowder weapons, for example. Ensuring victory is impossible, but I will endeavor to give us a fighting chance. I will not turn us into a military state like Regna Ferox, but I certainly intend to build up the Army and change it."

"General, I want you to write a report," Chrom spoke up. "I want _everything_ you have on Bersia. Its races, its cultures, its military, its geography, everything. The security of the halidom is paramount, and I will grant whatever is required to ensure it. Additionally, I want you to fully explain your proposed changes in this report."

"As you wish, Prince Chrom," Walter responded evenly. _It's going to be a long report…_ Walter mentally sighed.

"What's next on the list, Robin?" Chrom asked as the Council whispered amongst themselves.

"Umm…"Robin replied, looking back down to the list, "Duke Abel stated he has questions about how we're going to allocate resources for reconstruction, and the requisite tax plans."

Walter sighed and sat back down as Abel stood up and began voicing his concerns. He hardly paid attention, however; tax policy and reconstruction wasn't his forte nor in his realm of immediate interest. No, Walter's thoughts lingered on the task ahead of him; how would he ensure Ylisse could survive a Bersian invasion without turning it into a martial state?

000

"That went better than I expected," Chrom admitted exhaustedly seven hours later, well after nightfall. The Council meeting had just been adjourned, with another meeting set for the beginning of next week. Walter assumed that the meetings after that would be weekly as well, at least until the prewar order was restored and the state of emergency was declared over. Chrom, Frederick, Phila, Robin, and Walter had been the last to leave; the Dukes had been dismissed first, then Sumia had excused herself on account of "feminine problems", taking Lissa with her. Rickard had left with the other Dukes, but had told Walter he would be continuing as his aide, and would see him the next day.

"Might have had something to do with Walter dropping that little surprise on them," Robin chuckled. "They were too subdued to turn it into a circus."

"They have good cause to be concerned," Frederick countered, his face grim. "If the General is correct, we are in a very precarious position right now."

"I think Robin's idea to open up a trade route with Bersia was a good one," Walter supplied. "Sovereigns are less likely to attack nations they openly trade with."

"And it should allow us to get some unique commodities as well," Robin replied. "Maybe we'll even manage to get the design for those 'bomber wings' you told me about back at Breakneck Pass."

Walter snorted. "Unlikely. The Dwarves are fiercely possessive of their weapon schematics."

"Walter," Chrom spoke up, "Does Bersia have any rare beasts?"

"Several," Walter replied, nonplussed at the random question. "Almost all of them are large, aggressive, and dangerous. Why?"

"A couple of years back, the Shepherds broke up a griffon smuggling ring," Chrom explained. _What is a griffon?_ Walter wondered. "Powerful, exotic beasts make a lot of money, and I fear we'll end up with some Bersian animals being traded."

Walter paled at the thought. "I certainly hope not," he said nervously. "I could only imagine the chaos if some eccentric noble were to get his hands on a Scorpion and then lost control of it."

"We have scorpions here," Robin said, confused. "One of the nasty little bugs tried to sting me back in Plegia. Why would Bersian ones be such a concern?"

"Are your scorpions the size of a small building?" Walter replied. Robin's panicked expression gave him his answer. "I'll include the details of notable Bersian animals in my report, Prince Chrom," he said, turning back to the Prince. "Most of them are used militarily by the beast tamers of Hexter or by the Falconers of Eccles… Hironeiden, so most of the entries will be in that section."

"Ugh," Robin groaned, "I am _so_ not looking forward to reading this report. It sounds like it's going to be a small novel."

"I'm not looking forward to writing it," Walter grumbled. The others laughed as he shook his hand free the phantom pain it knew it was about to endure.

 **Author's Note:**

 **I'm back, with something new for you wonderful human beings: The two year period between Plegia and Valm. I never really liked the whole "Chrom and Robin unfucked everything with absolutely no problems" bullshit time skip that IS decided on (though I do understand the constraints involved in the development process), and since I'm already mutilating the fuck out of the storyline for crossover purposes anyway, I figured I'd actually do something with it. I mean fucking seriously, a previous monarch was just assassinated, there was a huge war, there's all this tension left just lying around, and they really expect me to believe that absolutely NOTHING of note occurred during that time? Have the developers at IS never even looked at a history book? Post war, post assassination time periods are absolutely rife with shenanigans! No, there will be things that happen in this story, if my not-so-subtle foreshadowing has given y'all a taste. There will be drama, angst, action, adventure, some crack-theory/world building/lore shenanigans, and some light-hearted moments that may or may not be inspired by real life events. I will fast forward at several points, because if I wanted to carve through two years of events a day at a time this thing would go hundreds of chapters instead of like 20 or something, but it's not really going to be skipping entire years at a time. As always, the story will be centered mostly around Walter, cause if you want to read a novelization of FEA you are in the wrong fucking neighborhood kiddo, so if you don't like it, then tough titties. I do plan on looking at Robin's life a little more, but not until the Valm Arc at least… anyway, AN's should be more common this arc, sometimes for explanatory purposes or to make observations, sometimes just to make bad jokes, but mostly just because my friend harped on me for being a dick in my first AN and I'm tired of listening to him bellyache. So I'm going to try to engage you all politely**

 **Back to the actual story itself: Now the real work begins.**

 **The Bersian armies would destroy the Fire Emblem universe. Sorry, but Ylisse doesn't have spells like Meteor or Blizzard, or access to mortars (yet), or flying machines that drop bombs everywhere, or Swamp Mammoths, or people that heal themselves by standing next to a tree or screaming like lunatics, or a crazy dude in a loincloth who's fueled by the shared heart of two ancient gods and has the raw strength to beat an Ogre in single combat, to the point where the Ogre willingly serves them. They'd get steamrolled. It's Walter's job to fix that, and deal with all of the little problems that are gonna crop up.**

 **So yeah, enjoy. Or don't. My friend did, that's all I really care about. Speaking of which, fuck you once again for making me post this; I hope you choke on an entire truckload of dicks.**


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

 **The Beginning of Reconstruction**

Six days after the first Council meeting, Walter found himself in the Palace Guard's training yard, in front of one hundred and fifty men and women of the Ylissean Army. There were many faces here; young and old, rich and poor, man and woman. Walter cared not for those details, however; they were there for one purpose and one purpose only.

"Welcome to Officer Candidate School, cadets!" Walter barked. Several of the recruits visibly jumped, having become inattentive in the long silence before Walter had begun speaking. Walter smirked; they would have that beaten out of them soon enough. "For those of you who do not know me, I am the new Grand General of Ylisse, Walter Lionheart." A couple of the recruits snickered before their compatriots elbowed them, and Walter frowned. "Yes, I know it's silly, blame Robin, he's the one who filled out the paperwork and registered me with that ridiculous name," he said lightly, getting a few more laughs. He would _definitely_ be getting that changed before the next cycle of recruits came through though. "You are here either by recommendation of your superior officers, or because you are already officers.

"I will give you fair warning," He said as he paced in front of the formation. "I do not choose favorites. I do not care if you are highborn, I do not care if you are friends with the highborn, I do not care if you have served Ylisse for decades, and I do not care about anything other than your ability to meet my standards. As far as I am concerned right now, you are all _equally_ worthless." He got some raised brows at that, but no one had the stones to make a remark about it. "Your performance over the next few months will determine your value to the new Army. It will determine which of you are assigned as lieutenants, captains, majors, or colonels." He received some looks of confusion from the recruits; as it stood, captains reported directly to Generals, and so the ranks of major and colonel meant nothing to them, but that would all be changing shortly. "There will be _no other_ deciding factor," he emphasized. "The security of Ylisse is my most important concern, and I will accept _nothing_ less than excellence in my officers. I look forward to seeing how you all measure up. Sir Frederick?" he finished, turning to the man in question.

"Alright, cadets!" Frederick barked, startling most of them with the sheer force of will in his voice, "I am Sir Frederick of House Draug, your instructor, and you will obey all of my orders, when you are given them! There will be no hesitation, no arguments, and no dissent, or you _will_ be ejected from the course and demoted to private, before returning to your unit in shame! And that is only if I do not simply gut you on the spot!" Several of the recruits looked startled at that proclamation, and their brief glances to Walter had them realizing that Frederick was certainly quite serious. "This is to be your new schedule! You will not deviate from it! At one hour prior to sunrise, you will awaken, and report to the yard for…" Walter ceased paying attention as Frederick continued speaking, and walked over to Prince Chrom, who was leaning against the nearest door into the Palace.

"I think you ruffled some feathers there," Chrom said lightly. "Duke Vyland's vassal, Rodger, in particular. He clearly thinks he's already qualified."

"I cannot speak to the man's competence, yet," Walter answered, "but he will receive no preferential treatment. I meant what I said."

Chrom chuckled. "I'm glad to hear it. How goes the training of the regular troops?"

"Well enough," Walter answered. "In truth, your soldiers were well trained to begin with; I had to change very little."

"Well, I'm glad at least one facet of our military is to your liking," Chrom said ruefully. "I'd anticipated changes, but not to the extent you presented in your report."

"Your military is fine enough for Ylissean warfare," Walter replied, "but against Hironeiden, or Hexter…"

"Yes, I read your report," Chrom said, his face turning grim. "I was particularly concerned with the entries regarding the Orc beastmasters. I _sincerely_ hope that no Bersian animals make it to Ylisse. Your wyverns are half again the size of ours!"

"I would fear most for the Storm Riders," Walter countered. "They would almost certainly prey on the pegasi of the Eastern Mountains if any captive ones were to escape, and would make the passes even more treacherous to travel. They are particularly belligerent during their mating season in the late spring, which would severely handicap trade with the Duchy of Draug. Then there's the thought of escaped Swamp Mammoths…"

Chrom visibly shuddered at that. "I'll say nothing of the Orcs of Hexter themselves until I've received word from Regnier on his role in the Outrealm Treaty, but the creatures they share the land with are nightmarish. Giant scorpions, brutish wyverns, giant, flying insects that rain acid on their prey, and those mammoths…I'm honestly unsure how the Orcs manage to thrive."

"The whole land needs to be scoured clean," Walter said vehemently. "There is naught that grows there that is wholesome. The land begets monstrosities, and is ruled by them."

"I'll reserve judgment on the Orcs, for now," Chrom reiterated diplomatically, "but I'll take your opinion under consideration."

Walter frowned; Chrom severely underestimated the brutality and savagery of the Orcs; if the messenger even made it out alive, he would be surprised. "Very well, Prince Chrom." He turned back to the formation of cadets, to see with amusement that Frederick already had them all doing push-ups. "I wonder which of the cadets opened their mouth first?" he said amusedly. "Or has Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour already begun?"

"Rodger," Chrom said instantly, pointing to where Frederick was standing over the man, hurling abuse at him as the man struggled to push himself up off the ground. The rest of the cadets glared at the man hatefully. Walter chuckled at the sight. "I'm afraid I must take my leave now, General, I still have to get things squared away after…after Emmeryn's funeral the other day," he finished quietly. Walter grimaced sympathetically; he knew from experience that losing a loved one was excruciatingly painful, and planning their burial was worse, in its own way. "And then I have to speak with Robin about organizing the supply lines to the more damaged villages."

"I understand," Walter replied. "I myself have to check on the Pegasus Knights; Captain Phila is about to take the new recruits out to the Eastern Mountains to obtain their mounts, and I wanted to address them before they left. Then I have several dozen letters to write and orders to issue."

"There's always something else to do, isn't there?" Chrom asked wryly, causing Walter to laugh. "Good day, General."

"Good day, Prince Chrom," Walter stated as the man walked away. Walter followed him into the Palace, but almost immediately turned down another corridor, one leading to the Northeast Tower's staircase.

Twenty minutes and a back pain inducing climb later, Walter strode into the pegasus stables, carefully concealing how strenuous the climb was for him. It wouldn't do to look like a tired old man in front of the new recruits, after all. The tower housing the stables was a large, circular, multi-tiered room, containing dozens of stables, though most were empty due to the near-destruction of the Order of Pegasus Knights. Two large openings on the "ground" floor led to the exterior of the tower, allowing the pegasi direct access to the skies. Standing in the center of the stables' ground floor was a formation of twenty young women, all dressed in simple armor of similar make to Phila's or Cordelia's, though less ornate due to their low rank. In front of them stood Cordelia, addressing the new recruits. Phila stood off to the side, observing. Walter had thought she would be addressing them herself, but perhaps she already had.

"We will remain in the Eastern Mountains until you all have found a mount willing to bear you, or you personally give up on the search," Cordelia was saying, "before returning to Ylisstol to begin your training in earnest…squadron, attention!" She shouted as she noticed Walter walking up to them. "General," Cordelia said, saluting smartly, "come to address the new recruits?"

"That I have, Cordelia," Walter responded, returning her salute. He then turned to the recruits. _They look so young,_ he mused, _most of them are barely of an age with the Princess._ "For those of you who do not know," Walter spoke, "I am the Grand General of the Ylissean Army, Walter Lionheart." None of the recruits giggled or otherwise signaled that they found his name amusing. _More disciplined already than the officers downstairs,_ he thought amusedly. "I am sure Captain Cordelia has already addressed this, but you bear a great honor, and a great burden, by being selected for the Order of Pegasus Knights." Their faces were stoic, but their sober, somber feelings on the matter could be clearly felt. Walter had demanded _very particular_ standards for recruits that would rebuild the order, he would not disgrace Cordelia and Phila's fallen knight-sisters by allowing just anyone to try their hand at it. These women were all deemed capable, and knew how much of a privilege it was to be selected. "You are to be the vanguard of the Ylissean Army, our eyes and ears, the tip of the proverbial spear. You will be constantly under threat of pain and death, often alone but for your knight-sisters." They were tense now. "If any of you wish to back out now, I will not blame you, nor will I allow anyone to shame you. It is wise to know one's limits and respect them." He was met with silence again, but none of them moved out of formation. "I see that my faith has been well placed," he chuckled. The tension dropped, and a few of them visibly relaxed. "I have the utmost confidence that you will all perform admirably, despite the trials that you will face on the road ahead of you. That is all. For Ylisse!"

"For Ylisse!" they echoed back, saluting as one.

"Alright recruits, find your gear and report to the gates!" Cordelia shouted. Immediately, the twenty young women bolted, grabbing their packs and sprinting for the door, each eager to be the first ones out of it.

Walter chuckled as the last one left. "They do realize it will be some time before you all leave, don't they?" he laughed. "Even across worlds, 'hurry up and wait' is the norm."

"Yes, well, at least they're eager," Cordelia said lightly. "I suppose I shouldn't keep them waiting for too long. Good day, General." She saluted.

Walter returned it. "Have a nice vacation, Cordelia," Walter responded humorously. Cordelia laughed, shook her head, and departed from the stables.

Walter look over to Phila, who was staring at the door where the rest of the Pegasus Knights had left almost wistfully. "Should you not be preparing to lead your recruits?" he asked her.

"No, I am not going, General," Phila sighed. "I have actually been hoping to speak with you about it, but there was never a right time, with the restructuring of the Army, and the Council, and…"

"The right time is now," Walter said decisively. "If something is bothering you, Captain, then feel free to speak. I have never shoved off a subordinate's concerns without cause, and more importantly, you are my friend and I do not wish you to be troubled unduly. What is on your mind?"

Phila sighed, before steeling herself and speaking. "I wish to resign from my post as Captain of the Pegasus Knights. I intend to pass that task onto Cordelia."

Walter was surprised at first, given her previous statements about being concerned for Cordelia's ability to handle the stress, but quickly realized he should have seen this coming. She had been through quite a lot recently; the death of Emmeryn, her knight-sisters, and her mount, the imprisonment of a long time friend and former suitor, the recent funeral...everyone had their limits, and he suspected Phila had reached hers. "Are you sure?" was all he asked.

"Yes, General," Phila responded. "I am sure. I feel horrid for saddling Cordelia with such a heavy burden, but she has the potential to far outshine me, and I simply feel the time is right to pass the torch, so to speak."

"Where do you intend to transfer to?" Walter asked. "If you desire command of one of the newer units I will be forming, I unfortunately have to direct you to Sir Frederick. We are friends, and I know you are capable, but I do not play favorites and expect every officer in the restructured Army to have been through the Officer Candidate School. Even the Generals, when I can bludgeon my way past Vyland's belligerency," he added dryly, causing Phila to laugh. "I have every expectation that you will far exceed expectations, but you must go through it all the same."

"Actually," Phila replied nervously, blushing now for some unfathomable reason, "I was hoping to become your adjutant, as Rickard is."

Walter raised an eyebrow. She had quit being so strangely distant over the past few days, sure, but he hadn't expected such an abrupt turnaround. "I mean no offense, Captain Phila, but that would be an extraordinary waste of talent," he said. "Rickard is my adjutant because he is still learning the nuances and rigors of command, but you require no such training. Indeed, you've taught me more than I've taught you," he said with a dry smile. "Why do you request that position?"

"I…I do not wish to command troops any longer," Phila explained. "Perhaps one day I will resume the mantle of leadership, but for now, I am simply too…spent to deal with the stress. In truth, Cordelia has been managing most of my leadership duties voluntarily for over a month now, such as they were with practically no subordinates, so I already do very little commanding. I have no issue taking a decrease in pay and rank, Naga knows I barely spend any of my pay as it is. But I just…I can't lead right now."

Walter didn't answer for a moment. He had suspected Phila was nearing the end of her rope, but to hear her openly admit it led Walter to believe that she was worse off than he feared. "Are you alright, Phila?" Walter asked worriedly, purposefully forgoing the use of her rank. "You are one of the strongest women I've ever met, and it is beyond surprising, and troubling, that you would so openly admit that you are so taxed. Do you require something more than a change of position? I could put you on furlough; nobody would judge you, and the Lord knows you need it."

Phila shot him a heated glare. "I am not an invalid, Walter," she snapped, "nor am I some dainty lass in need of mothering. I would lose my wits just lying about while the rest of you work so hard to restore Ylisse. I wish to keep working, but I simply do not think I am up for the burdens of command."

"I meant no offense," Walter said carefully, and Phila's heated expression softened, "I was just concerned for your health. If you believe this is what you want, then I will grant it. You may keep your rank and pay as well; you've more than earned that for your service to the halidom."

"Thank you, General," Phila responded with a relieved sigh. Walter could practically see some of the stress lifting from her. "While you're up here, however," she said nervously, "what are we going to do with her?" she asked, pointing to one of the stables.

Walter frowned as he looked at where she was pointing. Residing in that stable, practically wrapped in a web of chains, was Aversa's mount. The dark pegasus had injured several stable hands and almost escaped within a day of being in Ylisstol, and it had been necessary to use such excessive restraints. Even now, bound beyond the ability to do anything but stand in one place, it glared hatefully at the pair of them, stray tendrils of dark magic rising from her obsidian coat. It snorted derisively as it made eye contact with Walter.

"I do not know," Walter admitted sadly. "I thought perhaps Bersian holy magic could do what Ylissean light magic could not, but I only succeeded in burning her. I am at a loss." Walter neglected to mention that the pegasus had retaliated in kind, striking him with a lance of dark magic. His arm still hurt from it, truth be told. "I have consulted with Tharja on the matter, and she is looking into it."

"Tharja?" Phila asked incredulously. "What does that devil-woman know of light magic?"

"Nothing," Walter responded. "But she knows dark magic, and that's the expertise we require. I know little of dark magic at all, let alone the likely differences between the curse magic that the Dark Legion wields and the sorcery of the Grimleal. If we are to cure this pegasus, we must have an understanding of how it was caused, and what can be done to reverse it."

"I see," Phila said contemplatively. "I suppose you're right. Still, I do not trust that woman."

"Because she is Plegian?" Walter asked.

"No, because she's insane," Phila responded frankly. "As Emmeryn knew and tried to convince everyone, the Plegians are people as well, and most of them are _good_ people. General Mustafa is an exemplary human being, for example. But Tharja? She's uncooperative, irreverent, hostile, and even goes as far as to hex and curse her own allies for her amusement. She is a horrid person."

"A fair assessment," Walter admitted. "Still, she possesses the knowledge we require, and thus we shall have to deal with her."

"Wonderful," Phila said dryly.

"For now, let us return to our offices," Walter said, walking toward the door. "There is yet much work to be done, and Captain Thorne is already waist deep in parchment. He will be pleased to know that he will have some help."

The two then departed the stables, with Walter mentally preparing himself for the endless mountain of parchment they would be slogging through for the foreseeable future.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

 **The Talys Feud**

"Well, I have good news for you, General," Rickard spoke up, breaking the silence of the office. Walter looked up, to see Rickard waving a sheet of paper in his direction. "Your request for a change in the name you have on file has been approved by the Prince. Congratulations, General Lennart."

Walter smiled. Finally, he could say his own formal name without wanting to punch Robin in the mouth. He'd taken it from an old Ylissean name associated with lions, the sigil of his original House, when he had been reminded of his great grandfather, Sir Lennard Grant, one of the few survivors of the Second War of Heroes. "Thank the Lord for small mercies," Walter sighed, causing Rickard to laugh. "How about you, Captain Phila, do you have good news for me as well?"

Phila looked up from her own work, her expression deadpan. "General, you have me working through the requisition orders. You and I both know there is _never_ good news on that front."

Walter and Rickard both laughed. "One can certainly hope," Walter sighed, before turning back to his own work. He was currently working on a progress report on his initial changes to the Army, what little he could do without the new officer's corps being passed through the course. Mostly to do with organizing the troops into their eventual companies, though all remained under the command of a single Captain (who held more along the lines of a colonel or major's job). He needed to have this prepared by the time he went to the Council meeting this afternoon.

He had moved Rickard's and Phila's desks into his own office, on either of the walls perpendicular to the doors, while his own desk directly faced the door. His office was far more spacious than he really thought had been necessary, and for some reason Phila and Rickard's were on the opposite end of the wing. He'd made precisely three trips from one end of the wing to the other for trivial matters before deciding that he'd had enough. The move had worked well, too; they were burning through the clerical duties of their stations almost fast enough to keep up with the incoming orders, reports, requests, updates, messages, and all of the other parchment-consuming parts of being a commander.

"Almost" being the operative word.

"I _cannot_ wait until the restructuring is finished," Walter griped for probably the thousandth time as a stray movement of his elbow nearly caused Ylisse's new Grand General to be killed via landslide of parchment. "There is absolutely _no_ reason for all of these things to be coming through this office! Why would the Grand General need to know about requisition orders for horse feed at a company level? Where do we find the parchment for all of this? How did General Thorne ever tolerate it!?"

"With a small army of clerks and pages," Rickard replied evenly, not even looking up. "He had forty or so of them, all reading through and summarizing them for easier perusal. Most of what he did was read one-paragraph summaries and sign."

Walter nearly felt like slapping himself. _Why hadn't I thought of that?_ He wondered.

His self-deprecation was clearly evident on his face, because Phila laughed uproariously at him. He shot her a glare, though without any real hostility to it, only causing her to laugh harder.

"You should see the look on your face, General," Phila said humorously. "You look as though the wisdom of the Divine Dragons has been revealed to you."

"I believe I've been working too much," Walter grumbled, causing both of them to laugh at him now. "Silence, both of you, or I'll throw you in the stockade!"

"And then you'll have to do all of this yourself," Phila countered, grinning slyly.

"Or I could hire pages and clerks, as Rickard so kindly suggested," Walter retorted.

"With word of you imprisoning your own adjutants," Rickard argued, grinning himself, "I doubt many would seek employment underneath you. Face it, General: you need us, and you're stuck with us."

"May the Lord have mercy on my soul," Walter deadpanned, eliciting more laughter from the pair. He grumbled to himself as he put the finishing touches on his report and stood up. "Well, I suppose it's time for the Council meeting," he sighed. The hourglass on his desk showed that they had a half hour yet, but he preferred to be early. After all, if everyone showed up early, then they could be done that much earlier. Not that that had every happened yet, but he could hope.

The other two stood up. "I guess it is," Rickard sighed, grimacing. "Father never prepared me properly for…well, all of this. Neither of us saw the need, not quite yet anyway; he's got a few decades left in him at the least, and didn't wish for me to bear needless burden. He and I both were happy with me merely being a Captain in the Army."

Walter clapped his hand on the lad's shoulder as they each stepped around their desks. "Fear not, Captain, Phila and I will get you sorted out."

"I'm thankful for that, at least," Rickard breathed. "The beautiful Lady Talys always nagged me about learning these things."

"As your father should have," Phila scolded gently as she fell in on Walter's right side as they exited the office. "He always was soft-hearted when it came to family, though," she sighed wistfully.

"Look on the bright side, Lady Talys," Rickard said cheerfully, "at least your incessant lectures about duty and responsibility gave me at least a fighting chance at this. If it were up to Mother and Father, I'd still know naught of any of it, living as a carefree youth!"

"I sorely wish you could," Phila responded, "but that is not the world we live in. One day, however, we might have lasting peace, and you can enjoy the future I always believed you deserved."

"Oh, yes, I'm well aware of your wishes for my future," Rickard replied, grinning. "How many private dinners did you attempt to set up between me and the Exalt?"

Walter raised an eyebrow and looked at Phila, who was flushing in embarrassment. "You would have made a good match!" she argued.

Rickard scoffed lightly. "I always wanted to be a warrior, and Lady Emmeryn wanted naught to do with war. Opposites may attract, but it would have been a disaster."

"I still maintain that you would have been good for each other," Phila said stubbornly.

"I never would have taken you for a matchmaker, Captain," Walter noted with amusement as Phila staunchly looked forward.

"Oh, she certainly has her opinions about who should court whom," Rickard piped up. "Though I think most of her guesses and predictions are wildly off, there is _one_ match she's hinted at that would be a good one…" he trailed off as Phila glared hot death at him.

Walter simply furrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "And what one would that be?" Walter asked curiously.

"Nothing important," Phila snapped, causing Walter to almost flinch at the sharpness of her voice. "And Rickard ought to know better than to stick his nose in matters that do not concern him." _What are these two on about?_ Walter wondered.

"I look out only for the welfare of my allies, Lady Talys," Rickard answered, still carrying a tone of amusement, as Phila seethed on Walter's other side.

"I once again assert that Ylisseans are utterly mad," Walter deadpanned, causing both of them to laugh, albeit a bit hesitantly.

"You call us mad, yet you stay with us anyway," Rickard responded. "So what does that make you, General?"

"Utterly loony, and dense to boot," Phila responded instantly. Walter grimaced as they both laughed at his expense.

"If I'd known my days would consist of getting belittled by my own subordinates, I would have never accepted either of you as adjutants!" Walter declared hotly, though his tone carried a hint of amusement.

"And then where would you be?" Rickard asked as they finally arrived at the Council Chamber.

"Buried beneath enough parchment to mummify him with," Phila answered as Walter reached for the handle and pulled open the door.

"I'm beginning to think that would be preferable," Walter grumbled as the two laughed, before Ricken left them and moved to his own seat.

"Good afternoon, Duke Talys," Walter greeted to the only other occupant of the room besides themselves as he took his seat.

"Yes, yes, good afternoon, General," Talys grumbled irritably as he pored through a thick sheaf of parchment. Walter recognized it; it was his own report on Bersia. "This makes for a fine bit of reading, if a bit worrisome. I can't say I dislike your proposed changes, though; I'd thought of similar things myself, back in my day as a General, but it never made it past ol' Bertrand and Thorne. They were never very amenable to change."

"You were a General?" Walter asked. "Captain Phila never mentioned that."

"Yes, well, I suppose she wouldn't be one to talk of her father, good or ill," Talys responded resignedly, glaring straight at the woman. "Prefers to pretend I don't exist at all."

"You know very well why, Father," Phila responded, her tone just as icy. Walter was beginning to wonder whether or not he should have worn a cloak, or even a heavy coat, to this meeting. It was suddenly much colder in here, and he doubted it was from the summer breeze. Also, he'd never seen Phila look that _angry_ before; it was rather frightening, if Walter had to admit it.

"Come now, you two!" Rickard interrupted, almost desperately, as Duke Talys began opening up his mouth to speak. "As much as we'd all love to rehash old history, we've a council meeting to sit through, and there's no call to ruin the mood so quickly. Save it for Duke Vyland, yes? We can all agree that he's more deserving of it, right?"

Duke Talys shot Rickard a critical glance, before sighing. "Yes, I suppose you're right," Talys admitted. "What's done is done, and that little rat _does_ need another few beatings."

"Or a lance through the gut," Phila said darkly. She was clearly still angry, but…she was containing it.

"Ha!" Talys barked. "It appears we agree on something after all."

"Well, that's rather strange," a new voice said from behind them. _Speak of the Devil,_ Walter mentally snarled as he turned and saw Duke Vyland leaning on the doorframe. "To see you two speaking to each other without the use of death threats is a miraculous sight on its own, let alone _agreeing_ on something? Life holds many miracles, does it not?"

"We were discussing whether or not Phila should stick you with her lance," Talys growled, causing Duke Vyland to frown and stand up straight. "If you don't shut your damned mouth, however, I'll settle for beating you with this cane. Again."

Vyland paled at that. "Y-You wouldn't dare," Vyland spluttered. "Exalt Emmeryn strictly forbade you-"

"And now she is no longer with us," Talys interrupted bluntly, causing Walter to flinch and glance at Phila concernedly. Her own face was drawn, but she said nothing. "And since the Prince hasn't said whether or not I'm allowed to beat you senseless _again_ , you'd best shut up and take your seat before I decide the matter for myself, you irreverent little whelp."

Vyland muttered a curse, but ultimately acquiesced and sat in his own seat, glaring daggers at the old man. Talys simply gave a smug laugh, before turning back to Walter's report.

The remaining Council members began filing in shortly thereafter, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air…or so used to it that they didn't notice anymore. Perhaps Walter was simply imagining it. The question as to what exactly happened between Phila and her father burned in Walter's mind, but this was neither the time nor place to discuss it.

Chrom, Sumia, Lissa, Frederick, and Robin were the last to enter the chambers; Chrom was discussing something in a low voice with Sumia and Frederick, but Robin zeroed in on the tension between Phila and her father almost immediately. He shot Walter a curious glance, but Walter gave a slight, helpless shrug. Robin returned it, and took his place near Chrom.

"Good afternoon, Councilors," Chrom greeted. The Council returned his greetings. "Robin, take a moment to collect the issues each Councilor wishes to present." Robin nodded and walked around the table, jotting down notes on what each Councilor wished to discuss. All Walter had was his progress report on the Army, Cordelia's appointment as Captain of the Pegasus Knights, and the overview of his Bersian report, which Robin was already aware of. He was left to simply gauge the moods of the Councilors. Sedgar, Abel, and Holzheim, and Cain were all stoic in their own fashions, Gordin was bored, as usual, Astram was looking far too cheerful for a woman about to sit through hours of politics, Vyland was still pouting, Talys was still glowering not quite in Phila's or Vyland's direction, Grant was glaring hot death at the Prince, as usual, Rickard was humming tunelessly and doing his damnedest to not look at either member of House Talys, and Draug was glowering in Walter's general direction, as usual.

Walter got the feeling that today's session would be of the _utmost_ fun.

"Alright, I believe that's it," Robin announced as he collected Duke Talys' issues last.

"Very well, let's get to it," Chrom stated. "What's first?"

"General Lionheart wishes to give a progress update on the restructuring of the Army, an overview of the Officer Candidate School's curriculum, a brief overview of his report on Bersia, and an announcement of a change of command," Robin grinned, knowing how Walter hated that name.

"It's actually General Lennart, now, courtesy of the Prince," Walter replied smugly as he stood up. Robin gave Chrom a scandalized look and mouthed "traitor", causing both Chrom and Walter to chuckle. "But very well. I will start with the report on Bersia, for those of you who have not had the opportunity or the will to read it. If it is the latter, I do not blame you; it is no easy read." The Council laughed briefly at that. Walter then delved into the subject, giving brief summaries of each race of Bersia, their military doctrines and strategies, their cultures, and their general disposition toward humanity. He then smoothly transitioned into a more detailed explanation of the restructuring of the Ylissean Army than he had at the first session, and from there went on to give a brief overview of the Officer Candidate School. His inclusion of lowborn soldiers into the ranks of officers earned him more than a few raised eyebrows, but a single glare from Chrom silenced any outbursts before they were even voiced.

"There is but one exception to the new standard of needing to pass the Officer's Training Course, which brings me to my last issue," Walter said. His voice was starting to hurt; he hoped he wouldn't have to talk this much in future sessions. "I have transferred command of the Order of Pegasus Knights to Knight Cordelia of the Shepherds, by Captain Phila's request."

"Blatant favoritism!" Vyland spat, regardless of the preemptive glare Chrom had given him. "This is an outrage! Our own vassals, who have served faithfully for years, are not good enough for your officer's corps, yet you so willingly hand over command of one of our oldest and most valued units to an inexperienced, lowborn youth who does not even bother to share where she's from!? This is a scandal!" Walter narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Phila beat him to it.

"There are but two fully trained Pegasus Knights left in the realm, Duke Vyland," she said icily, "and given my voluntary relinquishment of command, that leaves but one candidate for the position. If you had any other candidates to pull out of the ether, they have already missed their chance; _Captain_ Cordelia departed yesterday with our newest recruits to find mounts in the Eastern Mountains. You should have paid more attention; our call for recruits was hardly a secret. Attentiveness has never been your strong suit, however, so I am not surprised you did not hear of it."

"Why, you insolent little-!" Vyland began-

-Only to be cut off by Duke Sedgar. "Hold your tongue, snake," he grumbled, "I tire of listening to you mewl like a babe. Captain Phila is correct, there _are_ no other candidates, and this argument is utterly pointless. If you must whine, do so about issues that are actually debatable. More importantly, anyone who knows my future daughter knows full well that she's more than capable. Sit down and shut up."

"But why has Captain Phila retired at all?" Vyland insisted. "Despite our disagreements, I will not say she is anything less than capable, and she's certainly not too old for it. This reeks of conspiracy!"

"Captain Phila's decision is a personal matter, and not one to be discussed in a Council meeting," Walter growled, glaring at Vyland with enough heat to melt the peak of Mount Levantz. Vyland visibly withered under his gaze. His glare briefly snapped to Talys when he started laughing cynically, but the old man was far more resolute than Vyland, and met Walter's glare with an amused smirk. "I informed the Council of this change of position as a formality and a courtesy," he said, turning to the Council at large. "If such behavior is what I can expect every time I reassign an officer, I'll simply stop informing you at all."

"With my blessing," Chrom added, curtailing any protest. "The General has far more important matters to attend to than arguing with the Council over every minor action he does. If he deemed the change of command acceptable, I will trust his judgment. And _so will you,_ " he emphasized, glaring at the few Councilors who looked ready to object. "Now that that's settled, Robin, what is the next issue?"

"The next issue is…the opening of the trade route through the Outrealm Gate, particularly Duchess Grant's concerns over the stability of the bridge and the financial and political liability a potential collapse might cause."

As Walter sat back down and Duchess Grant spoke up to speak, Walter noticed Duke Talys staring at him, with that amused smirk still on his face. Even as Duchess Grant pointed out the age of the bridge and the probability of collapse, given the fickle nature of the Outrealm Gate, Talys' gaze never faltered, his smirk staying firmly in place. For the next several hours until it was his own turn to speak (about the restitution Plegia would be repaying and how it would be distributed), Talys scarcely looked anywhere else, and Walter became irritated with that smug grin.

Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, Chrom announced the session complete, and Walter thanked the Lord as everyone stood up to file out. He was one of the last to leave, however, as he needed to speak with the Prince regarding Miriel's progress update on recreating mortars. Duke Talys casually bumped into him as he left, and Walter turned to see that same smug, knowing grin on his face.

"Can I help you, Duke Talys?" Walter asked shortly. His smugness was really starting to irk Walter.

Talys' grin faded, replaced by a more scrutinizing look. He said nothing, however, for an uncomfortably long moment. Walter opened his mouth to speak again, but Talys turned to Captain Phila, who was rather red for some reason.

"Well, he's better than the last one, at least," Talys snorted, before promptly walking away, leaving Walter utterly befuddled.

"That insufferable old…argh!" Phila growled as the man rounded the doorframe and disappeared down the hallway.

"Captain Phila, what exactly am I missing, here?" Walter asked, nonplussed, as Phila visibly seethed.

"It's… a long story," Phila sighed, her anger dissipating somewhat. "And it's not exactly the kind to be discussed in the Council Chamber. Let's return to the office, and I'll explain myself there." Without waiting for a response, she stomped out of the room.

Walter was left standing alone, confused, before he realized that Prince Chrom had already left. He was more concerned for Phila, however, and decided that it could wait. He then followed her out of the room, trying to figure out exactly what the history between Phila and her father was.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

 **Affairs of the Heart**

 **Noble Quarter of Ylisstol, 20 years ago**

 **Manor of House Thorne**

"What in the nine hells is going on here!?" A voice roared from the doorway to the bedroom.

Phila quickly broke away from her embrace with Roark, her face turning a mottled pink color as embarrassment and abject fear waged war over whether her face should fill with blood or drain of it entirely.

"Duke Talys," Roark practically squeaked, his own face as white as his sheets. "I swear, this isn't what it looks like!"

"The bloody hells it isn't!" Duke Talys roared, his voice thunderous in the relatively small space. Phila flinched instinctively; she'd never heard Father this _angry_ before. "You," he snarled, pointing to her. "Outside. _Now._ "

"B-but Father," Phila protested weakly, raising her hands defensively, "I swear, I wasn't-,"

Her protests were cut off as her father was suddenly right in front of her, seizing hold of her arm. She yelped in terror and pain as his vice-like grip clamped down on her arm, and she was hauled bodily from the room.

A whirlwind of fear and desperate, fruitless pleading later, she found herself ejected from the front door of Thorne Manor. As her father's death grip on her shoulder released, part of her dress's shoulder tore, at precisely the worst spot. As she hit the cobblestone street, in full view of the public, the upper left-half of her dress fell apart, exposing the bare skin of half of her chest to the dozens of people who were walking through the streets. As they stopped to stare at the spectacle, a few already laughing, her embarrassment finally won out over her fear, and her face turned crimson as she desperately covered herself up.

"Don't know why you're bothering with that," her father said derisively as he stomped down the steps after her. "You're willing to show it to the first man who says a few pretty words to you, why do all these others matter? Surely they can spare the words as well, if that's all you require."

"It isn't like that at all, Father," Phila protested, tears streaming down her face. "I love him, and he loves me! And we were not doing anything!"

"Yes, and I'm the Divine Dragon herself," her father snorted. Several of the spectators laughed, and Phila's face colored further. "You're so young and stupid, it's a wonder you haven't gotten yourself in deeper trouble than this!"

"Duke Talys, please stop this!" Roark pleaded from the door, rushing down towards them. "We weren't doing anything wrong!"

"Aside from _ignoring my very explicit orders!?_ " Duke Talys snarled, turning around. Roark cringed under his fury. "I told you to stay away from my daughter, and told her to stay away from you. Yet where do I find her, but at your manor, in your chambers, in your bloody arms!"

"W-we were just talking, Father," Phila sobbed on the ground. "I just gave him a hug, that's all!"

"That's all it ever starts out with," Talys spat. "That isn't how honorable men go about courting. You think I just jumped straight into it with your mother, hmm? You mother was no harlot, not like _you_." Phila cringed under the accusation, and the onlookers laughed once more. "I courted her properly, asked for her hand properly, and married her properly before I so much as touched anything other than her hand! I didn't try to go behind her bloody father's back and get cozy with her! I didn't spit on thousands of years of tradition for the sake of a few sensual moments! I didn't invite her into my bloody chambers for a 'private talk'! You have no shame, and barely any honor left worth preserving! I've half a mind to just let him have you and wash my hands of you entirely!"

Phila's face dropped. "Y-you mean to disown me?" She stuttered quietly. The crowd didn't laugh this time.

"Why wouldn't I?" Talys asked bitterly as he stood over her, his arms crossed and expression disdainful. "You care little for your own honor, let alone your family's. Not only are you sneaking around with men behind my back, but I hear tell of you inquiring to join the bloody _Pegasus Knights_ , despite the fact that you are the _only_ heir of House Talys!?" Phila winced once more; she was sure Captain Alice wouldn't have said anything! "What would become of the House if you were to die pursuing some pointless dream of our ancestors' glory, hmm? What then!? You aren't some village maid searching for love or glory, Phila, you have _obligations._ "

"I-I was just curious about the Pegasus Knights," Phila excused lamely. "I had no intentions of-"

She was silenced as her face was rocked by an excruciatingly painful slap. Her eyes stung with fresh tears, and not just from the pain.

"Silence, whore," Talys spat. "I don't want to hear your pathetic bleating. I'm done with you. I hereby disown-!"

"No!" Roark shouted, darting in between the two of them. "Duke Talys, please don't! She doesn't deserve it, this was entirely my fault!"

Talys glared glacially at the man, but Roark somehow found the courage to stand his ground. "It takes two to dance, you little cur, do you take me for a simpleton!?"

"Not at all, Duke Talys," Roark said respectfully, submissively, "but it was I who initiated it. I was the one who convinced her to go behind your back, instead of doing things the proper way, despite her protests. It was wrong of me. Don't let my mistakes doom her."

Talys gazed at the man shrewdly. "Well, well, well," he said after a moment. "It appears you possess a modicum of propriety after all, if not honor. Well then, boy, what _would_ you have me do?"

"Do not disown her," Roark proposed. "In return, I will never meet with her outside of formal functions again."

Phila's could physically hear her heart shatter. "Roark," she sobbed. "You can't just-"

"I can, and I must," Roark responded resignedly, not looking away from Duke Talys. "I won't let my foolishness deprive you of your family, your birthright."

"I don't want any of that," Phila argued desperately. "I want _you_!"

Roark then turned and bent down to her, cupping her face gently in his hands. "It was not meant to be, Phila," he said softly. Phila could not hold his gaze, so full of sorrow and pity. Just glancing at his steel grey orbs was enough to twist the proverbial knife in the already gaping wound where her heart once was. "It was doomed from the start." He then stood back up and faced Duke Talys. "If you do not disown her, I swear with Naga and all of these people as my witness, that I, Sir Roark of House Thorne, will have nothing to do with Lady Phila of House Talys outside of our formal duties, on my life and the honor of my House."

Duke Talys squinted shrewdly at the man, before nodding in satisfaction. "That will do, I suppose," he said evenly as Phila continued sobbing pitifully. "Now, get out of my sight. I'm taking Phila home."

Phila broke down into even more tears as Roark turned away, his head bowed, before her father seized hold of her arm and dragged her away.

000

"Phila," Walter gasped as a single tear ran down the hardened warrior's cheek, in their office fifteen minutes after the council meeting. "I'm…I'm so sorry."

"It was twenty years ago, Walter," Phila responded softly, turning and gazing blankly out the window. "I have moved on."

Walter doubted that, but said nothing about it. "Well…" he said lamely, "at least now I understand your desire to preserve your modesty, even from healers. What he did to you was shameful and inappropriate."

"I have had many people tell me that," Phila responded wryly, still staring from the window, watching the last few rays of the sun fight valiantly to stay visible, even as the rest of the sun was dragged down below the horizon. "Yet why is it that I am the only one to feel shame?" she added, so low Walter could barely hear her.

"Because your father is heartless," Walter growled as he stepped up alongside her, gazing out himself. "You were young, and in love. He had no right or reason to treat you that way."

"So you say," Phila said doubtfully. "It is in the past, now. I had my revenge, by joining the Pegasus Knights at the first opportunity. I have known no man and begat no heirs. Our House ends with me, much to my father's displeasure."

Walter frowned piteously and looked at her. "You deprived yourself of love…out of spite for your father?"

"It sounds so petty when you just out and say it, doesn't it?" Phila said wryly. "But yes, that is why I have seen thirty-seven winters, yet not one man. At this point, I doubt any man would wish to court me. I am beyond the healthy age to give birth to a child, though I still theoretically could, and have been told I am far too serious, severe even."

"That isn't true," Walter immediately objected, with an amount of vehemence that surprised even him. Phila glanced at him, the surprise evident on her face. Walter felt his face burn, for some reason, and he rushed to explain himself. "Well…uh…despite your age, you are still quite beautiful, if you don't mind me saying so." His face burned hotter as Phila raised an eyebrow. "The only 'severe' thing about you is the severity of your dedication to your duty, which I personally find to be an admirable trait. Any man would be lucky to have such dedication directed at him. Many men prefer dainty, whimsical lasses, but there are just as many who would prefer a strong, serious woman. Take Donnel, for instance, he asked me just the other day about how to voice his intentions of marriage to Sully, and the young Lady Abel receives much the same criticism as you." He coughed embarrassedly as Phila smirked, her eyebrow still raised. "I am sure you could find a man, if you wished to look."

"I am…flattered to hear you say such things, Walter," Phila responded softly, smiling in a curious manner at him. Why was his heart racing? "And here in the Palace, I'm sure I wouldn't have to look far. There are all manner of men about who would prefer a 'strong, serious woman', wouldn't you say?"

There was something in her eyes that drove static into Walter's mind. "Y-yes, I am sure there is," he said hurriedly, distractedly, looking back out of the window as he tried to figure out the sudden discombobulation of his thought processes.

Phila laughed then, but so much softer and more pleasant than Walter thought Phila's voice really had any right to be. "Thank you for the…comfort, General," She said. "I believe I have much to think about. I will see you on the morrow."

"Y-yes, I will see you as well," Walter replied, still not looking at her and trying to suppress the burning in his face. "Good night, Captain."

"Good night, General," Phila replied, before she turned and left Walter's line of sight. A moment later the door opened, and after _just_ too long for Walter's comfort, it closed again.

 _What was that all about?_ Walter wondered in stupefaction as he wandered back to his desk. For some reason, he didn't think he'd be getting much done tonight.

000

Walter was having a bad morning. Not only because of the fact that he was up quite late into the night and had to be roused from his sleep by one of the maids two hours after he _should_ have awoken, but because of the conclusion he had reached the night prior in the middle of his work that had sent his mind into overdrive and deprived him of sleep.

He liked Phila.

He was hesitant to say love. He certainly cared for Phila, and, well…he wasn't lying when he'd said she was beautiful. He mentally slapped himself before he went on a mental tangent describing his exact opinions of her appearance, but yes, he thought she was beautiful, yes, she was a good friend, and yes, he enjoyed hearing her laugh and seeing her smile, and yes, there was little more important to him than ensuring her welfare and happiness… _alright, I'm_ in love _with Phila,_ he mentally corrected himself, quite begrudgingly. _Ruth did ask me to find happiness for myself, to not grieve for her…and I think she would approve of Phila._

But all of that meant nothing when put in the context of reality.

Walter was her direct superior. Not only that, but he had been her healer, and was still mixing the salve to relieve her back pain. Even if he opted to cease that particular action (which he wouldn't, because the assassin had not been confirmed to be identified or captured and he trusted naught but the Shepherds to treat her), he would still be her superior officer. It would be wrong. It would compromise not just his authority, but her own. People would assume she retained her rank because of her…"connection" to the General, and likely completely ignore her skill, dedication, and service to the halidom in light of it. Both his oaths as a healer and his responsibility for impartial judgment as a General demanded that he abandon the train of thought entirely.

Yet, being naught but a mortal man, he couldn't help but find himself sneaking quick glances over to the veteran Pegasus Knight. Did he mention she was beautiful? It was quite hard not to look at her. Before he could indulge that line of thought any further, however, his elbow found the inkpot for his quill, and three reports were promptly ruined.

"Blast!" Walter cursed as he desperately tried to contain the spill. He succeeded, but not before another four pieces of parchment were ruined.

"You seem out of sorts today, General," Rickard noted. "That's the second inkpot you've emptied, you spilled your tea this morning, and practically trampled over one of the servants when you rounded a corner. Are you feeling ill?"

"No," Walter said irritably as he desperately tried to sponge the ink off of the ruined reports. Such efforts were fruitless, however. "I simply…need coffee." He had been _terribly_ upset to learn that coffee was not a beverage that existed in Ylisse, and had resolved to push through the trade deal with Bersia as soon as possible, if only for that reason. Sure, the lack of coffee wasn't the reason for his current predicament, but it would certainly help if he had some. Or maybe even a stiff drink…

"Are you sure such a beverage is not alcoholic?" Rickard asked amusedly, coming uncomfortably close to reading Walter's mind. "I've seen a couple of drunkards in my time, and they acted much the same when deprived of their drink of choice."

Walter glared at the man, who raised his hands defensively. "I am quite sure," Walter replied hotly.

"Are you sure you're alright, General?" Phila asked, her tone full of concern. Walter's heartbeat immediately picked up. He mentally slapped himself for getting excited by a woman talking to him, as if he was a teenage boy again. "You are never this distracted, nor this short of temper."

"Yes, quite alright," Walter answered a bit too quickly, his voice an octave higher than it normally was. He frowned as he noticed Rickard's face twist into a knowing smile, and turned to look at Phila. Her russet colored eyes were fixed on him, brimming with worry and confusion. "I am simply tired, is all."

She clearly didn't believe him. "If you insist, General," she responded. "I am a healer myself, you know. If you are ill, I could easily diagnose and cure it. You have but to ask."

"Ah, what sweet irony that would be," Rickard sighed. "For the healer and patient to reverse roles. Why, I seem to remember a romantic comedy playing at the theater once that had that same premise…"

"If you do not wish to spend the rest of your days in the stockade, Captain," Walter growled, "you will end that line of speaking."

Rickard raised his hands again. "I only jape, General Lennart," Rickard said, his smile and tone indicating he was doing anything but. Walter just grumbled wordlessly, returning to his work, trying to make out the original print past all of the spilled ink.

The minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, before the door to the office opened up without warning. Walter looked up to see Tharja leaning on the doorframe, staring around with her typical bored expression. Walter thought her a woman utterly incapable of joy, unless she was talking about Robin or planning to hex someone.

"You," she said once Walter made eye contact with her. "I've come up with a solution."

Walter wracked his brain for a second, before he remembered what he had asked of her. "You have come up with a cure for the pegasus?"

"Did you ask me to do anything else for you?" She snapped. "Yes, simpleton, I came up with a cure."

"Watch your tongue, sorceress," Rickard warned.

"Watch _your_ tongue, boy, I'll speak however I please," Tharja shot back. "I can _make_ you watch your tongue when I hex it to rot out of your mouth, so think twice before you speak again."

Walter interrupted before Rickard could speak again. "The cure?" He reminded.

"Yes," Tharja replied, looking almost disappointed that she was deprived of the opportunity to hex someone. "You're not going to like it, though."

"I'll be the judge of that," Walter told her. "Out with it."

"Very well," Tharja said, grinning cruelly. Walter got a bad feeling from that. Nothing wholesome made Tharja smile. "I've come up with a variation of the simple Nosferatu spell. Instead of draining life force, it will drain magic instead. You will cast it on the pegasus, while a cleric tries to channel light magic into it. One person could theoretically do both."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Both Libra and I attempted to cast healing magic before; all it succeeded in doing was burning the creature."

"Yes," Tharja replied with the tone of a mother speaking to an idiot child, "because the pegasus' dark magic was interfering with it. The light magic reacted in the most predictable manner; it attempted to purge the dark magic before healing it. But if someone is channeling the dark magic away, you could heal the creature's body and eventually reverse whatever curse was used to change it. I cannot speak to its mind, however; there is no knowing if the creature's sanity can ever be recovered."

Walter's eyes set in grim determination. "Something tells me that you will not be assisting me."

Tharja snorted in derision. "Of course not. It's going to resist, _violently_ , and I've no interest in risking my life over this. I care nothing for the creature; you're the one who wanted to cure the bloody thing. You'll have to do it yourself. I'll examine it afterwards, but you're on your own for the casting."

"But the General doesn't know how to cast-" Phila began.

"So be it," Walter interrupted. "Teach me the spell, and I will cast it."

Phila and Rickard both turned to Walter, surprised. "You can cast dark magic?" they said simultaneously.

"Yes," Walter answered gravely. "The Ecclesian Mage's Academy teaches all students the basics of dark magic, for the purposes of identification and resistance. I had never thought to use those lessons again…but I said I would try to cure it, and if this is the only way, then I will do it."

"Excellent," Tharja replied, grinning. "At least I don't have to run you through the beginner's lessons, then. Goodness knows my time's valuable enough." Walter rolled his eyes; most of her time was spent stalking Robin, and that was hardly anything resembling productive. "I've already written down the instructions. I'll meet you at the stables tonight to make sure you don't kill yourself, because Robin would certainly disapprove of that, but after that, you're on your own." She then strode up to his desk, dropped a small scrap of parchment on it, and sauntered her way out of the office.

The second the door close, both of the others opened their mouths to protest, but Walter raised a hand to silence them. "I am doing this, and that's final," Walter said imperiously. "Our time is too valuable to spend arguing over a settled matter."

Rickard simply harrumphed and crossed his arms, but Phila spoke anyway. "I wasn't going to argue," she countered, "I was going to say I would help you."

Walter scoffed. "Absolutely not," he said instantly.

Phila narrowed her eyes. "Did I not promise to help you with this a month ago?" Phila asked sharply.

"You promised to lend your knowledge," Walter clarified, "not to risk your health."

"General, after all you have done for me, do you expect me to sit idly by and let you risk _your_ health alone?" Phila asked heatedly.

"Yes," Walter replied bluntly, "I do. I care too much about you to risk your life like that." He ignored Rickard's ludicrously wide grin and Phila's rather startled expression. "I will make it an order if I must, Captain," he warned.

"Captain Thorne," Phila said, turning to the young noble, "could you go down to the dungeons and tell them to prepare a cell for me? I'm about to be there for insubordination, and would rather have a cell ready than be thrown in some rat-infested hole some murderer just passed away in."

Walter scowled as Rickard laughed. "I am not japing, Captain," Walter said threateningly.

"Nor am I, _General_ ," Phila growled. "I am a qualified cleric. Perhaps not the strongest of them, but a cleric all the same. I am qualified to help, and more importantly, I am _going_ to. You can cast the dark magic, and I will cast the light. I _am_ helping, even if I have to dig my way out of the dungeons to do it."

Walter stared furiously at Phila, who matched his glare evenly. She was a strong willed, even stubborn woman, sure, but had never been so brazenly insubordinate (unless her modesty was concerned, or one attempted to convince her to ride in a wagon while injured). Eventually, he let out a cry of frustration. " _Fine_ ," he snarled. "But the _moment_ I deem it too dangerous, you _will_ leave. Are we understood?"

Phila's glare disappeared entirely. "Perfectly, General," she said cheerily. "I am glad to see we are of like minds." With that, she turned back to her work, humming happily to herself.

Walter scoffed as he turned back to his own work. _Bloody woman,_ Walter harrumphed mentally. _Why do I even care for her?_

 _Because she's beautiful, strong, courageous, and shares your sense of duty?_ An internal voice that sounded irritatingly like Rickard's responded lightly.

 _Shut up,_ Walter snapped back. _Gods, these lunatic Ylisseans are driving me insane as well. I am hearing voices now._

 _You're one of them now,_ the voice chided. Walter slapped himself upside the head, earning strange looks from the Phila and Rickard, but he ignored them and went back to work.

 **AN:**

 **So yeah, that thing with Phila is a thing that happened to a friend of mine. Her overbearing dickwad of a dad caught her with a dude who lived down the block, chucked her out the door hard enough to practically rip her shirt off, berated her in front of all of their neighbors, and dragged her home. All happened before I met her, and she'd told her dad to suck start a shotgun years before, so I didn't even have the luxury of finding him and punching him in the face. She's over it now, even gave me permission to use it here, but my heart still breaks for the poor girl.**


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

 **The Dark Flier**

"Is your armor particularly necessary, General?" Phila asked as Walter met with her outside of the office, a staff in her hand.

"Is yours?" Walter countered.

"I…I always wear my armor," Phila dismissed, almost embarrassedly. "You don't. You normally wear a tunic, with only your mace."

"Yes, but Tharja mentioned that the pegasus would likely retaliate," Walter argued. "Hence the weapons and armor."

"Yes, I suppose she did," Phila responded. "Very well then, shall we?"

"We shall," Walter answered, and the two began walking down the hallway, headed for the Northwest Tower. "I was not aware my manner of dress was of such interest to you, Captain," Walter said lightly as they walked.

"Well…" Phila trailed off embarrassedly, "I just…suppose you look better with the armor on. More…professional. Regal, even. Although I suppose you cut a fine enough figure in your regular tunics." Seeming to realize what she was saying, she immediately clamped her mouth shut and turned forward again, stiff of posture and crimson of countenance.

 _Was…that a…compliment?_ Walter wondered in shock as he stared incredulously at the now furiously blushing Phila. _Does she feel the same as…no,_ Walter thought resignedly. _Her feelings do not matter. My feelings do not matter. Duty comes first. What was it that I overheard Queen Ellen once say to Captain Rupert? "We hold our swords first, hearts second."_

"What was that, General?" Phila responded, looking confused.

Walter paled as he realized he'd said the last part aloud. "Just an old Hironeiden proverb," he quickly excused. "Just…thinking aloud."

"I see," Phila said, her gaze both curious and suspicious. He sincerely hoped she hadn't understood a word of what he'd muttered; the last thing he needed was for the two of them to start thinking the other liked them.

 _It's too late for that,_ inner Walter/Rickard chided playfully as Phila once again blushed and turned forward again. He imagined violently punching himself in the face, and the voice receded.

"I have taken the liberty of informing Libra and Maribelle of our plans this evening," Phila spoke up. Walter was sincerely glad for the change of subject. "They will be up shortly after we arrive, to ensure we are not grievously injured. Maribelle insisted on enlisting the aid of Princess Lissa, despite my protests to the contrary, so we can expect her, and possibly the Prince as well."

"Shall we invite the Council as well, and perhaps host an event for it?" Walter said dryly. Phila chuckled at that. "Well, I suppose it is good to have allies concerned for us."

"Indeed. It is nice not to be alone in the world, isn't it?" Phila said wistfully. Her face and his both paled simultaneously, and the conversation once again ended abruptly.

It was another awkward, deafeningly silent fifteen minutes before they arrived at the stables, and Walter was strangely relieved to see Tharja leaning against one of the stables nearest the chained beast.

"Did you study the spell?" Tharja asked without preamble.

"I did," Walter affirmed.

"I take it your woman is going to be casting the light magic?" Tharja asked with a sly grin.

The two of them both turned quite red, eliciting a dark chuckle from Tharja.

"Yes, I am," Phila responded at length, "but I am not 'his woman'." For some reason, that sentence was physically painful for Walter to hear.

"Whatever you say," Tharja said, rolling her eyes. "Here's how it's going to work. Our illustrious General's going to cast the spell, as instructed. Your job is going to be to channel light magic into the beast, in the form of a healing spell. I doubt some Pegasus Knight knows how to cast wards or how to dispel curses, but even if you do, don't bother trying to cast either on the pegasus. The magic's part of it, somehow, Aversa managed to supplant the creature's natural light magic and replace it with dark."

"Such a thing should not be possible," Phila said, frowning. "Dark Fliers have been created many times before, but there is always at least a scrap of light magic left within them."

"Possible or not, that damnable woman did it," Tharja insisted. "There's not an ounce of light magic left in it. Probably did it by using that damnable Reeking Box she had at Castle Plegia... it doesn't matter. This pegasus is still naturally a creature of light magic, Aversa's meddling aside. We _should_ be able to reverse the process. Are you both ready?"

"As ready as one can be for such things," Walter confirmed, before beginning to channel his magic and recite the mental incantation Tharja had given to him. A brief burst of black energy blinked into existence in his hand, but was almost immediately snuffed out.

"I know you can do better than that," Tharja scoffed. "I've seen your spellcraft before, and word has it you single-handedly collapsed the Border Pass with a single spell. You know what you're doing wrong. Fix it."

"What does she mean, Walter?" Phila asked nervously.

Walter sighed in resignation. "Elemental magic, or as you know it, anima magic, is fueled simply by the caster's magical strength, and guided by nature's spirits and the caster's own focus. Dark magic is different. It is fueled by emotion, and logic and focus are thrown out near entirely."

"Which means he needs to get angry," Tharja summed up. "Or any emotion could do, really. Envy, spite, bloodlust, anger, happiness, sadness, and even carnal lust can be used… Well, go on, I don't have all night!"

Walter frowned in her direction, before focusing his mind. He had been trained for years to suppress and control his emotions; it made for a stronger elemental mage, and was in keeping with the Lord's teachings of restraint and moderation. But that would not do for this task. Once again, to do the right thing, he would need to step out of the Lord's light and into the dark. Deciding to use anger to fuel it, he began thinking of things that angered him as he restarted the spell…Gerald's hypocrisy. Ellen's judgmental behavior. Vyland's arrogance. The Council in general. The thought of the Ecclesian Empire and Church no longer existing, fallen to the apostates of Hironeiden. The fact that he'd been deceived by Encablossa into being the cause of all of it. As he finished the mental incantations (and seethed in anger at the thought of what Phila's father had done to her) the spell flickered once again to life, bursting into existence with an audible snap. The nearby torches dimmed, and the pegasus struggled against its bonds at the appearance of the spell. In Walter's hand now sat a ball of fell energy, roughly the size of a melon, swirling sickly in the air, stray bursts of energy leaping from the "surface" of the orb and dissipating into the ether.

"Well now," Tharja said with surprise as Phila visibly recoiled, "I did not expect you to be quite so skilled…or is it that you're that angry?" She giggled. "You'd make a better dark mage than most of my fellow journeymen. That's almost as good as I can do."

Walter glared in her direction, and the orb flared briefly. _Like I'd lower myself to using this sacrilegious art for any other purpose,_ he mentally spat. Tharja just chuckled at the display, and gestured toward the pegasus, who was now staring at Walter in equal parts curiosity and fear. Without further ado, Walter thrust his hand forward, and the spell leapt from it. The second it connected with the creature, a lance of dark energy snapped back to Walter, tying him magically to the creature. Walter did as Tharja had instructed, and began willing the pegasus' magical power toward him.

Walter cried out in pain as the pegasus' magic began flowing into him, lighting every nerve in his body on fire. As Tharja had predicted, the pegasus reacted swiftly, and violently. The dark pegasus sent out extra lances of black magic, already desperate to kill Walter and stop the draining of its magic. Walter barely managed to raise his shield to block them all, so frequent and vicious were the assaults.

"Go, woman!" Tharja barked incredulously. "He can't hold forever! Cast the damned light magic!" A startled squeak/yelp that sounded utterly foreign to Phila's lips later and a lance of light magic shot past Walter's shoulder, connecting with the pegasus and forming another tether, this one bright and soothing. Phila strode up next to him, grimacing in concentration as she channeled her own spell.

Walter's spell nearly broke as the pegasus turned on her next, sending multiple lances of light magic her way. He desperately dove in front of her, taking what spells he could not block with his shield onto his own body. Despite the agonizing pain, both from the attacks and the sheer volume of dark magic he was absorbing, he managed to maintain the connection. His armor was scorched and smoking, but intact, and he remained standing. The pegasus whinnied in anger and pain as the magic continued flowing away, and it writhed against its bonds, even managing to break a couple of the chains.

"Stay behind me!" Walter cried, his voice strained. "Just like Castle Sable!"

"Right," Phila said, glancing at his smoking armor worriedly.

This was not quite like Castle Sable, however. Whereas with Aversa they were attempting to close the distance, they had to keep their distance here, to avoid being overwhelmed by the pegasus' barrage. Simultaneously, they had to remain close enough for neither spell to fade, giving them very little room to maneuver. After several minutes of struggle that felt like hours to Walter, the pegasus suddenly changed tactics. Instead of trying to overwhelm Walter with multiple attacks spread across a wide area, it channeled its dwindling magic and sent an enormous bolt of dark magic directly at him, utilizing his own spell to direct it. Walter was ill prepared for the attack, and barely managed to get his shield up in time. The spell detonated violently as it connected, and both he and Phila were thrown backward from the explosion. Walter impacted hard against something, before the obstacle gave and he tumbled past it. His vision turned black then, and he lost consciousness.

000

"Walter! _Walter!_ " a voice was shouting, a bright light shining through his eyelids. Female? No…effeminate, but male. He pried open his oh-so-heavy eyelids and gazed blearily at the speaker, barely managing to see past the light. It was Libra, crouched over him, gazing down at him worriedly with an active healing staff in his left hand.

"Oh, thank Naga you yet live and breathe," Libra sighed, cutting the spell off briefly. "How do you feel?"

"Pain," Walter supplied succinctly. His entire body ached, as if he had been covered in pitch and set ablaze.

Libra laughed dryly. "I figured that much," Libra responded. "We arrived just in time to see you both blown across the room. Are you dazed? Can you see clearly? Are you feeling ill in addition to the pain?"

"Yes, no, and no," Walter responded groggily, struggling to pull himself to a sitting position. Libra carefully assisted him, leaning him up against…something. Wood. One of the stables, Walter guessed. His stomach then lurched sickeningly, and he resisted the urge to throw up. "On second thought, yes, I am feeling ill. Is Captain Phila alright?"

"A concussion, likely," Libra sighed. "You _did_ crash headfirst through one of the stables." Oh, so that's what he'd hit. "Captain Phila is in a similar situation, though her injuries are not quite so…well you are quite well burnt, to be frank. A wyvern would think you a fine meal."

Walter gazed down to where Libra was looking, and grimaced. His breastplate and tunic had been removed from the waist up, and his torso was covered in angry crimson sores, with some of the flesh cracked and peeling. His arms were far worse, and he cringed to see them; they were akin to Phila's back the first time he'd ever treated her, though the agony his arms were in told him only the skin was affected.

"You said Phila is alright?" Walter asked as he acknowledged the severity of his injuries.

"Yes, some mild bruising and a moderate concussion," Libra said, gesturing over to his left. He saw Captain Phila leaned against another stable, the Princess and Maribelle fussing over her. She was clearly out of sorts, her eyes unfocused and her speech mumbled and slurred. "A night's rest and some healing magic and she will be as right as rain."

Walter sighed in relief. "Thank the Lord for small mercies." He then looked to the stable where the pegasus was held, and frowned. "We…we did nothing!" Walter cried, dismayed. The pegasus stood in its stable, still chained (though several had been broken in the struggle), clearly exhausted, and no longer radiating dark magic, but otherwise unchanged.

"I wouldn't say that," Tharja's voice came from nearby. She was leaning casually against one of the stables, still looking bored. "You succeeded in planting a seed of light magic in the beast. Of course, it will likely be purged within… two days, so it's practically worthless, but success is success."

"Within two days, you said?" Walter asked. Tharja nodded. "Then I shall return tomorrow."

Tharja scoffed. "No you won't," she chuckled. "I've seen dark magic burns like that before, it will take you days to heal. You'll burn yourself alive before you manage to change the damned beast back. Your woman's just too weak of a light mage to do the job."

"Then I will do it," Libra responded. "At the risk of sounding arrogant, there are few priests or clerics more skilled in their art than I, short of a bishop or sage."

"No!" Phila shouted angrily. The three looked over to see her almost drunkenly pushing the two other clerics away. She stumbled to her feet, leaning heavily against the stables, her eyes visibly struggling to focus. "I said I would do this, and I will."

"Don't be a fool, woman," Tharja said condescendingly. "The only thing you'll succeed in doing is getting the man killed, and yourself to boot. You can't even cast a bloody ward while channeling a healing spell, and don't pretend I didn't see you try."

Phila winced at the dismissal, but shook her head. "I will not sit this out!" She said adamantly. "I spent half of the war in a damned hospital bed; I _can't_ just sit this out as well! I promised Walter I would help, and help I shall!" Walter felt almost stupid now; he thought she'd argued against him out of simple impertinence, he'd never considered that was the reason why she'd been so insistent. She did so loathe feeling useless…even as he worried for her, he felt a strange sense of…affection for her dedication to the job. To _him._

"If you insist on being involved, perhaps there is _something_ you could do without channeling light magic," Libra offered before Tharja could rebuff her. Phila gestured weakly for him to continue. "If I am to aid Walter, then I will be unable to treat…this," he gestured almost disgustedly to Walter's wounds. Phila winced when she finally noticed them, and stared at Walter worriedly. "I am already growing tired from trying to heal these wounds, and if I am to fight against this beast, then I will be unable to heal the wounds afterward. You, however, could."

"I will help as well!" Maribelle declared. "I owe Sir Walter a debt of gratitude, and a Themis always repays their debts."

"I'm in!" Lissa added cheerily. "Miriel's been thinking about trying to learn how to use staves as well, so we could probably get her to help too!"

"That would be best," Libra agreed. "The more healers we have, the better a chance we stand at succeeding. Do you accept this, Captain Phila?"

Phila gazed worriedly at Walter, and then looked to the pegasus, before sighing in frustration. "My mentor always told me when to respect my limits…and channeling light magic into that pegasus is beyond mine, as loathe as I am to admit it. If this is the best way I can contribute, then so be it."

"Very well then," Libra stated. "Now, I believe you both have had enough of this for one night. We will return here tomorrow. Tharja, would you mind collecting the General's armor while I help him back to his quarters?"

"What do I look like, a bloody squire!?" Tharja shouted in exasperation. Libra said nothing as he dragged Walter to his feet, and began practically carrying the injured man out of the tower, right behind the other three women. Regardless of her protests, Tharja still picked up the heavy armor that Libra had stripped from his arms and torso and lumbered after them, cursing all the while about a lack of respect.

 **AN:**

 **I steadfastly maintain that Dark Fliers are created by using non-light magic around pegasi. There is no physical way a horse can fly without magic, so they're definitely magical in nature. And given that Falcon Knight mounts suddenly sprout horns out of their fucking foreheads once their riders start using staves, because flying unicorns or something, I'm arguing that the shiny black coat Dark Fliers have comes from using anima magic around them. And of course, if you're Aversa and using OP af dark magic spells with Shadowgift (Aversa's Night is stupidly broken btw), it's going to affect it even further and turn it into an insane wellspring of dark magic.**

 **I also find it bullshit that pegasi can't use their magic for anything but flight. I mean they live in a world full of fucking wyverns and griffins and dragons and all other sorts of flying death machines, they would be hunted into extinction without a way to fight back, and what better way to preserve one's life in such a hostile environment than the method by which it's most effective to kill aforementioned flying death machines in-game? A magicless pegasi is wyvern bait. A pegasi that can shoot bolts of magic at predators is a creature that actually survives. All species develop adaptations to survive, and given that pegasi are rare in-game, they didn't adapt by breeding like mola mola fish. They don't have any physically visible attributes that may save them like shells or spikes, and to suggest that they're somehow poisonous is as bad as anything I could come up with. No, they can shoot magic at people, I am willing to bet a kidney on it.**

 **My friend disagrees with some of my theories, and his counterarguments and theories are so fucking stupid I won't bother even repeating them. I will hamfist my crack theories into this story until you learn to enjoy them, bro, even if it kills us and the innocent bystanders reading this in the process. Fucking deal with it.**


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

 **The Night That Never Happened**

Walter trudged into his office two weeks later, clutching his left side in agony. The nightly sessions with the pegasus were not going well. The damned beast had nearly killed him and Libra both a dozen times over already, yet all they'd managed to do in return was weaken its spells and cause it's coat to fade from slick obsidian to the color of iron. Tharja insisted they were making progress, but he felt hopeless. Despite the combined efforts of Phila, Miriel, Lissa, _and_ Maribelle, his wounds would not fully close. Not with them being reopened and burnt anew each night. Walter feared he would die in the process before he succeeded. He would either be burned alive, or Libra would overexert himself and potentially kill himself. The outlook was grim.

"General, are you sure you're fit to work?" Phila said concernedly as she walked in behind him and watched him practically collapse into his chair.

"Yes, Captain," Walter said gruffly, "'I am not an invalid' would be your words here, would they not?"

Phila laughed, though it had to be forced past her concern first. "Yes, they would, but I would also be moments from collapsing. Prince Chrom has already approved you to go on furlough, and-"

"I will not stop working for a few burns," Walter snapped, ignoring the mounting pain in his side and Phila's wince. "My body may be injured, but my mind is not! Now, cease your pointless mothering and get to work, Captain!"

The hurt look that briefly flashed across Phila's face sent a pang of regret through him, but she responded before he could apologize. "Very well, General," she sighed worriedly. "I'll get to work on the new training regiment for the cavalry." Even as Walter opened his mouth to apologize, she strode away from him, before collapsing into her own seat and immediately diving into her work, not sparing him a second glance. Walter's mouth worked wordlessly for a second, before he sighed and returned to his own work.

His temper was shortening by the day. He would be a fool to ignore it. He snapped at everyone, over the slightest provocations, and none more so than Phila, who spent most of her waking hours by his side, attempting to heal his wounds and assuage his pain. Yet despite his atrocious conduct, she continued to serve him, and Walter was profoundly thankful for her. His breast swelled with pride, affection, and no small measure of guilt to temper it. He knew she didn't deserve his behavior, but he was just so…angry anymore. He knew it was the influence of the dark magic he was casting and being subjected to, combined with the pain, but he still felt terrible. After all, they were still his own thoughts, though he normally wouldn't give voice to them.

Rickard chose that moment to walk through the door. "I have some good news for a dreary morning, General," Rickard supplied, despite the fact that the morning sun was shining brilliantly through the window and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. "Since the Council approved of opening a trade route through the Outrealm Gate, I have taken the liberty of putting forth a commercial order for…" he looked down at his paper briefly, "thirty pounds of those 'coffee beans' you mentioned, out of my own coffers, and they should arrive within a month and a half. In addition, I have spoken with young Donnel about the stuff, and he's reasonably certain it should be able to grow in the southern parts of Ylisse, though naturally he can't be sure until he actually has possession of them. Once a suitable number of crop plants arrive, Donnel is going to return to his village and attempt to plant some. Assuming he succeeds, you will not need fear a shortage of coffee for the rest of your life."

"Rickard," Walter said in awe, "you are a blessing from the Lord, and I do not know what I would do without you." Rickard laughed merrily at that. "You and Phila both are irreplaceable, and very dear to me," he added, shooting a glance at Phila. She didn't look up from her work, but he noticed the smile she was struggling not to let free on her now red face. "And I am sorry for my conduct as of late," Walter stated more bluntly, which prompted Phila to look at him finally. "You are such wonderful soldiers, dare I even say friends, and you have not deserved what I have given you of late."

"Think nothing of it, General," Rickard said, waving his hand flippantly as he sat down at his own desk. "I understand the situation you're in. I very highly doubt I could be subjected to what amounts to magical torture on a nightly basis and retain my chipper outlook. All things considered, I'd say you're doing splendidly."

"I know you're in pain, General, more so than just about any other" Phila added consolingly. "I do not take your outbursts to heart. I remember I was much the same when you first treated me. We are friends, and true friends do not choose to hate one another over petty disagreements."

Walter smiled softly. "Thank you, both of you," he said, relieved. His guilt had been building up over the past few days, and it was beyond relieving to know that he wasn't driving them away. "Now, I believe it is time to-"

He was interrupted mid sentence by a knock on the door. "Enter!" Walter barked. He wasn't expecting any messengers. Who could it be at this hour of the morning?

The door opened to reveal Gaius, of all people. "Morning Gramps, Grams, Junior," Gaius nodded to each of them in turn. Each of them scowled at their nicknames. "Hey, Gramps…and Junior too, come to think of it. I'm taking the Prince out on the town tonight, to celebrate his engagement, and you're going with us. Sorry Grams, it's a guys-only sorta gig." Phila shrugged in response.

Walter frowned heavily. "I am far too busy to bother with such frivolous activities. I am afraid I will have to decline."

"'Fraid not," Gaius retorted slyly. "Already got Prince Chrom to officially order you to go. After you nearly shouted Lettuce, er, Stahl, into an early grave, everyone and their mother knows you need a night off. So, by order of the Prince, you're going with us."

Walter's temper flared and his face twisted into a grimace of rage, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Phila stood up.

"Very well, Gaius," she said, shocking Walter into silence, "I will ensure both Captain Thorne and General Lennart meet you at the front gate of the palace after dinner. I believe you should go inform Prince Chrom of their acceptance, and be quick about it," she said pointedly, slightly inclining her head to Walter, who was now turning a rather worrisome shade of red.

"Uh, righty-o," Gaius said nervously, "Catch you guys later!" he then bolted from the room with all of his considerable speed, slamming the door behind him as if fearing he would be pursued.

Walter rounded on Phila, who stood stiff but stoic in the face of his rage. "Have you taken leave of yours senses, Captain?" Walter asked, his voice surprisingly calm and quiet for the amount of incredulous anger he was feeling. "I am _not_ going out to get drunk, or whatever foul activities the man has undoubtedly concocted, not when all of this work needs to be done!"

"I will stay late to make up for the lost productivity," Phila responded evenly. "You heard the man; Prince Chrom has explicitly ordered you to go. And if I may say so as your healer, General, I believe a night of relaxation would do well for your state of mind."

Walter opened his mouth to growl a response, but Rickard interrupted him. "It couldn't hurt, General," Rickard said lightly, flinching as Walter rounded on him next. "I-I merely mean to _suggest_ ," he continued placatingly as Walter seethed, "that you at least give it a try. If, after an hour, you decide that you truly cannot enjoy yourself, then we shall return to the office and resume our work. That way, you can say you obeyed the Prince's orders, and can still make headway against this," he said, gesturing to the foot-high stacks of parchment littering all three desks. Walter's rage subsided somewhat. "What say you, General? Will you not at least try? If not for the sake of duty to the Prince, then as a favor to your friends?" he finished, gesturing one hand toward Phila and one to himself.

Walter opened his mouth to speak, but the nervous and almost hopeful expression on Phila's face caused him to deflate. "Very well," he sighed, and Phila and Rickard shared excited glances. Walter instantly knew he would regret this.

000

Phila started as the door to the office suddenly burst open later that night. It was well past midnight, and she almost assumed she was being attacked, before the door's brutal assailant stormed into the room. It was Walter, wearing a fine tunic…or what was left of one, it was torn in several places, and very disheveled and soiled where it wasn't torn. She was also surprised to see makeup on him… then she was promptly consumed with an irrational fury as she noted that it was not self-applied (for whatever reason a man might wear makeup), was only of one kind, and was in distinctive shape of lips, scattered haphazardly across his face.

"What happened to you?" Phila asked evenly, stifling the bout of jealousy (she was self-aware enough to admit what it was).

"That damnable thief happened!" Walter roared as he stomped over to his desk, his gait noticeably unsteady. "May he rot in Hell for the rest of eternity!" Walter cursed. His voice was clearly slurred; Phila realized amusedly that the man was quite drunk.

"I figured as much," Phila sighed patiently. "Tell me what happened."

000

 **Gate of Castle Ylisstol**

 **Eight hours prior**

Walter frowned as he noticed the rather large crowd in front of the gate. Upon quick inspection, his initial assumption had been proven correct; every single one of the male Shepherds were present, from the young Ricken all the way up to the seasoned Gregor.

"What is the meaning of this?" Walter asked of Gaius as he stormed up to the ginger-haired thief. "I was under the impression that it would simply be the Prince, you, Rickard, and myself. Not every man in the Shepherds!"

Gaius smiled smoothly, but Walter was not impressed. "Alright, so, here's the thing. I'm trying to show Blue a bit of the more…common, and…robust side of life, you get me? He's always stuffed up in that drafty old castle, slaving away for the good of the common folk, blah blah blah, I decided he needed to live a little. So, I told him I'm taking him out tonight. Then, he tells me that you're coming with. I ain't complaining, you're good people and you look like you could use a break."

"Yes, I get that much," Walter said impatiently. "How do you go from three people to the _entire male roster of the Shepherds?_ "

"This is where it gets good," Gaius grinned mischievously, and Walter immediately had a bad feeling. "As I go to tell you of your new plans for the evening, I see young Rickard there-" he pointed to the man, who was chatting amicably with Virion as they all mulled about- "slaving away in his office too. I realized that he probably needed a night out too, if he works as much as you do. Then, I got the _greatest_ idea," he said, his grin infecting his voice. "Blue's about to get married, right? Stahl's about to get married. Hells, just about all of the men are either betrothed, thinking about getting betrothed, or at least visually appreciating some of the choice eye-candy that we're graced to spend our time around, if you follow me," he said, giving Walter a pointed look. Walter was unimpressed, and scowled. "So, I get this brilliant idea: we're having a bachelor party."

Walter's scowl deepened, and his face flushed. "Absolutely not," Walter stated imperiously. "Rickard! We're returning to the office!"

"Belay that," a voice shouted in the crowd. Chrom pushed his way forward, looking somewhat nervous, dressed in a fine black tunic and cloak, Falchion strapped at his hip as always. "Sorry Walter, but if I have to go through with this, I'm taking the rest of you down with me."

"You could simply refuse," Walter suggested pointedly, almost pleadingly.

"No, I promised Gaius I would come, and I'm a man of my word," Chrom replied. "Besides, Walter, you can clearly use a break. We even got Frederick to come with us, so it can't turn out too terribly. He'll keep us on the straight and narrow."

"I make no promises," Frederick stated, materializing from seemingly nowhere. As ever, he was wearing his armor, a broadsword strapped to his waist. "I ever look out for you, milord, but I cannot guarantee that I can corral so many people at once."

Walter shook his head. "I am not participating in this tomfoolery," Walter stated bluntly. "I have been dragged to one of these before, and I have no desire to repeat the experience."

"Oh, come on," Gaius said lightly, tweaking Walter's few remaining nerves. "It'll be fine, Gramps. Just give it a shot; we won't make you stay after an hour's passed."

Walter looked desperately between the three of them, and quickly realized there was no way out of this. "Fine," he said with a tone of resignation. "But not one minute more!"

 **Two hours later**

" _If sorrow, the tyrant, invades the breast,_

 _Haul out the foul fiend by the lug, the lug!_

 _Let no thought of the morrow disturb your rest,_

 _But banish despair in a mug, a mug!"_

Walter cursed and apologized profusely (through a heavily slurred voice) to a barmaid as he nearly bowled her over on his way back from the bar. When did his ability to walk become so hampered? Where were all these obstacles materializing from? Why was his vision swimming? Oh, right. The beer.

" _Or if business, unluckily, goes not well,_

 _Let the fond fools their affections hug!_

 _To show our allegiance we'll go to The Bell,_

 _And banish despair in a mug, a mug!"_

Walter sat (or rather dropped heavily) down in the booth again, nearly spilling his own drink on himself. He resolved to be more careful; his tab was getting extensive, after all, and he didn't wish to bankrupt himself simply because he was incapable of keeping hold of his drink, did he? How many had he had, anyway? There was the first round…then the second…oh, then the drinking contest that Vaike and Virion had roped him into…oh bugger it, he couldn't remember. Too many…or not enough, depending on one's perspective. At this point, Walter was in the latter camp.

" _Or if thy wife proves none of the best, or admits no time but to think, to think,_

 _Or if the weight of the horns bows down thy crest, divert the dull demon with drink, with drink!_

 _Or if thy mistress proves unworthy to thee, ne'er pine, ne'er pine at the wanton pug,_

 _But choose out a fairer and kinder than she, and banish despair with a mug, a mug!"_

Walter found himself singing that verse along with the rest of the Shepherds (and indeed, the rest of the bar), and broke out into cheers with them as it was finished. The song continued on, but Walter was distracted as Rickard and Gaius both threw themselves into his booth, grinning madly. Also, why were there two of each of them? What manner of sorcery…

"You look like you're having fun, Gramps," Gaius said smugly, his voice entirely too sober. "See, I told you this wouldn't be so bad!"

"I…perhaps you are right," Walter slurred out. "The beer is good, at the least. And I will never admit this sober, but I did need a night off. You're both good friends for convincing me to come."

"That's all you need out of life, isn't it?" Rickard slurred contemplatively, clearly well beyond drunk. "Good beer, and good friends!"

"And a good woman, too!" Chrom shouted as he slid himself into the booth next to Walter. Walter was pleased to see the Prince was holding his ale rather well; his eyes were hardly bloodshot, and his voice almost completely clear. "I wish Sumia was here, she would have so much fun!"

"You wish she was here _now_ ," Gaius clarified, "but you won't later." A bad feeling leaked into Walter's mind, but he viciously crushed it under his mental heel. This was _fun_ , for the Lord's sake, the first bit of fun he'd had in years, and he wouldn't let doubts hamper it!

"Like you're not thinking of Tharja right now," Chrom countered. Rickard and he both burst out into laughter as Gaius' face turned red (and not from his drink), and even Walter spared a chuckle. He didn't know what Gaius saw in her, aside from her…feminine assets, but that wasn't his business, he supposed.

"Yeah, but we ain't betrothed…yet," Gaius said with a devilish grin, and the two young nobles cheered for him. "Trust me, when we get to the surprise at the end of the night, you ain't gonna want the ladies around." He cleared his throat then. "For now, _to the next bar!_ " he shouted, and the Shepherds simultaneously roared in agreement, before a drunken stampede of apocalyptic proportions materialized from nowhere and began moving toward the door.

 _There's another bar after this?_ Walter wondered before shrugging. He downed his beer, left a silver coin on the table for the barmaid, and followed the others out into the night.

000

"So…you went bar-hopping?" Phila clarified. "That doesn't sound so bad. Perhaps out of character for you, but relatively harmless. It doesn't sound bad at all."

"Not yet, it doesn't," Walter grumbled. "After the fourth bar, however, is when the trouble started… though it would not be a lie to say that I enjoyed it at first."

000

"This is it, then?" Gaius asked, adjusting his footing on the sloped rooftop. Walter couldn't see past the mask over the young thief's face, but he knew from his tone that he was grinning madly.

"This is Duke Vyland's manor," Walter affirmed, barely managing to get the words out coherently and maintain his grip on the bucket at the same time. Lord, this was going to be _hilarious_ … if he didn't fall off the roof, at any rate. That was becoming a greater danger by the second.

"Alright then," Gaius said, his tone wicked, before he whistled loudly.

A second later, the ear-splitting sound of pigs screaming rent the night air, shattering the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of the Noble Quarter. A second later, _dozens_ of swine poured out of the nearby alley.

" _Yeeeeeeeehaaaawwwwww!"_ came Donnel's voice, clearly audible even over the screaming, as he drove the pigs forward with a lit torch and a stick. Walter knew not where he'd found the hogs, nor did he care; he only awaited with childlike anticipation as Donnel drove the stampede forward, toward the front door of Vyland Manor.

The pigs did not stop when they met the front door; they crashed through it, splintering it into dozens of pieces, screaming as they poured into the manor. Within seconds, lights began flickering to life within the building, and Walter couldn't help but laugh as he heard the panicked voices from inside. Donnel quickly ducked back into the alley and out of sight.

Within five minutes, the pigs suddenly exited the building, screaming more loudly than when they'd entered, causing Walter's ears to ring. On their heels was Duke Vyland, dressed in his nightclothes and wielding a rapier, stabbing madly at the hogs.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vyland roared in confusion as the last of the swine left his property, dispersing in random directions across the city, screaming all the while. "Who let these swine loose? Who is responsible for this!?"

"Now!" came Chrom's shout from his hiding place in the alley with Donnel. Walter looked at Gaius, nodded, and upended the bucket he was carrying, before quickly sliding back down the sloped roof, out of sight. Within seconds, a now utterly befuddled Duke Vyland was swamped in a deluge of the foulest sludge they could scrape from the local cattle farms.

Vyland did not react for the longest time, and Walter thought maybe they'd missed, or that they'd picked up simple mud instead of…well, one can imagine what was in that bucket. But just as Walter went to turn to Gaius, to shoot him a questioning look, Vyland emitted the most ear-splitting, indignant screech he'd ever heard from a man, and even most women. As Vyland continued screaming in disgust and horror, wiping futilely at his face and arms to clear the sludge away, the two of them broke out into raucous laughter, before they quickly scampered away.

Once they'd gained sufficient distance and dismounted the rooftops, emerging in the Merchant's Quarter, Gaius and Walter met up with Donnel and Chrom. The four looked at each other briefly, before bursting out into such a fit of laughter that one of the previously-sleeping merchants screamed at them to "shut your bloody mouths, it's the middle of the night you hooligans!" This only amused them further, however, and the merchant ducked back into his window, muttering in disgust, as their howling laughter echoed through the empty streets.

"Oh man, that went so much better than I thought it would have," Gaius managed to choke out between laughs.

"Holy cow," Donnel wheezed, "y'all shoulda seen the look on his face! It was priceless!"

"Walter, when you proposed this idea, I thought you'd lost your wits," Chrom admitted, gasping for the breath that his laughter had stolen from him, "But this may be the single greatest thing anyone has ever done."

"It would all have been for naught without Robin distracting the guards," Walter replied modestly, struggling to breathe himself. He could never admit what he had done publicly, of course, but this would be one of the best memories he'd ever had. He felt twenty years younger again.

Gaius was the first to fully recover from his laughter, and he peeled his mask off, grinning madly. "Alright fellow Shepherds," he said mischievously, "that's the last thing we needed to do before…the main event."

000

"That…you were the cause of that screaming?" Phila wondered in shock as Walter chuckled at the memory. "You could hear it from here… I had thought the city was under attack!"

"Not the city," Walter snorted amusedly, "just Vyland Manor."

Phila stared at the man, slack-jawed, utterly incredulous at the sheer ludicrousness of what he'd done, before her mind caught up to her, and raucous laughter tore forth from her lungs. Walter chuckled along, before her mirth fully caught on to him, and he began laughing just as hard.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the two finally calmed down.

"Gods above, I wish I'd have been there to see it," Phila said, wiping a tear from her eye as Walter dissolved into more drunken chuckling. "If that was just the preliminary amusement, I can scarcely wait to hear of this 'main event'."

Walter's face dropped into a scowl then, and Phila's mirth quickly dried up.

"You can take one good look at me, and guess what happened next," he muttered darkly.

000

"A _brothel_!?" Walter roared in horror as Gaius led the Shepherds (minus Rickard, Ricken, Donnel, and Vaike, each having gone home due to sickness from all of the alcohol they'd drunk) into the venue of the "main event", only to see a variety of women in various states of undress. "Your intention all along was to _bring the_ _Prince of the halidom to a brothel!?"_

"Yup," Gaius stated chipperly, seizing Walter and a now very reluctant Chrom by the arms and began dragging them further into the den of iniquity. "Let's go greet the ladies, shall we?"

000

Phila's face was drawn in horror as Walter cupped his face in his hands. _Gaius brought Chrom to a_ brothel _? He brought_ Walter _to a_ brothel _!?_ She screamed mentally. Jealousy flared up in her far stronger than it had before, and it took all of her willpower to keep it from her features.

"I will not speak of what occurred in there," Walter summarized, his voice barely intelligible over the slur and his hands muffling it, "other than to say I should have left the second I realized where we were." He groaned, holding his head in his hands. "And I definitely should have left after they brought out that curious device…"

Phila's face paled. "I…I see," she said, trying not to envision precisely what "curious device" could possibly mean. "I will ask for no details…did you…?" she trailed off.

"Most certainly not," Walter responded vehemently. "And neither did Prince Chrom, he practically throttled Gaius afterward. I personally would not touch any woman that way outside of marriage, let alone an 'entertainer', as Gaius called them. There is but one woman I'd even contemplate such actions with, that I care quite deeply for, and I'd rather die than besmirch her honor like that!" he declared, before his face turned red (or redder, as he was already pretty flushed from the drink). He then promptly shoved himself upward, a lurching, precarious motion, before shooting Phila a salute. "Good night, Captain, and do not speak of this night to anyone. Forget it completely. I retired after dinner, due to pain from my wounds. Tonight never happened." Without waiting for the return salute or Phila's response, he stumbled his way out of the office, slamming the door behind him unintentionally.

Strangely, Phila didn't feel jealous at that last proclamation. She had an inkling who Walter might have been talking about. Smiling to herself, she turned back to her work, and at Walter's request, forgot everything he'd said. Well… _mostly_ everything.

 **AN:**

 **Aside from the "Phila getting jealous" thing and the brothel (I pulled inspiration for that from Gaius and Chrom's supports), this happened to me in real life. Went to a bachelor party, we all got talking about how much we hated this one particular prick in our unit, and decided to have a little fun. The victim wasn't rich, didn't live in a mansion, we lured him outside by setting off his car alarm at 3am instead of letting loose a herd of pigs in his house, and it was used motor oil, but the principle is the same. The fucking look on his face was priceless, and if it what we did wasn't illegal I would post the video we took of it to YouTube and link it here, but rest assured it did indeed happen, and it was more hilarious than I can describe. I hope you enjoyed this FE inspired novelization of it a quarter as much as I did the real thing.**


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

 **Hangover**

Walter woke up in agonizing pain, and groaned loudly to express it. That wasn't unusual these days; the past two weeks or so had seen him burnt by dark magic over nearly every square inch of his body, leaving him battered, bloody and exhausted. Even before then, he'd woken up plenty of times with sore, bruised, burnt, broken, and lacerated limbs from the various battles he'd participated in over his forty winters in the mortal realm.

But only twice before in his life had he experienced the world-ending pain of a hangover, and had forgotten exactly how awful they were.

He lay there for an indeterminable amount of time, pulling the covers over his head to block out the sun's rays. On a quest for blood, however, they shone even through his blankets and forcibly closed eyelids, lancing into his tender eyes and sending spikes of pain through his head. He could feel his pulse in his head, each beat of his heart sending a lance of agony through him. Walter was not entirely sure he wished to live anymore.

His torment was increased as a series of knocks sounded against his door, thunderous in the blessed silence.

"Begone!" He shouted, wincing at his own volume. "There is no cause for such volume this early in the morning!"

His door creaked open then, excruciatingly loud and grating against his ears. He was about to repeat himself, in far less polite terms, before the intruder spoke up, mercifully softly. "I figured you would be in pain, General," Phila's voice came barely above a whisper, and carrying a tone of amusement, "but I hadn't expected you to sleep in past noon. Sir Frederick and Sir Stahl have concocted a tonic for the disposition of hangovers, for the many casualties of Gaius'… er, 'mission' last night, and I thought you might appreciate some of it."

Slowly, Walter removed the blanket from on top of him, wincing and throwing his hands over his eyes as the sun was given full leave to launch its merciless assault upon him. Mercifully, Phila closed the curtains, and the assault was muted, if not entirely erased.

"You are a godsend, Captain," Walter whispered thankfully as she gently set down a glass full of some clear, mint-scented liquid next to him. Despite the immediate rebellion of his stomach, he downed half of the concoction, and sighed in relief as his headache began abating, though too slowly for his tastes. What he wouldn't have given to have this stuff after his wedding night…

"I live to serve, General," Phila replied, her voice still full of amusement. "Unfortunately, I do not come solely to relieve you of pain. There _is_ a Council session today, and unfortunately I cannot attend in your stead."

Walter groaned in misery, and Phila laughed quietly at him. "Why did you let me do this to myself?" Walter moaned piteously. "I thought we were friends…"

"I did not tell you to drink enough to knock down ten Feroxi warriors," Phila chuckled in response. "I simply wished you to enjoy yourself for once. What you opted to do, or not do, was your own decision. Now, drink up and get dressed, we've a Council session to attend in an hour." With that, she stood up, casting him one last amused look, before turning and striding from the room.

Walter immediately decided today's session would be the least pleasant yet.

000

"General, I'm glad you could join us," Chrom stated amusedly as Walter stumbled into the Council Chamber an hour and fifteen minutes later, dressed fully and appropriately in his armor and weapons, but still carrying the air of a man half asleep…or half dead. Walter simply shot the Prince a glare, and the man laughed, much to the befuddlement of the Council.

Walter sat down in his own seat, silently praising Frederick as the last of his headache began dissipating, and shot a quick glance around. Most of the Council was utterly confused as to why exactly Walter was ten minutes late, and what seemed to be of such amusement to the Prince. Duke Vyland, however, was now glaring at the pair of them suspiciously.

Chrom cleared his throat. "I thought we might do something rather…different today," Chrom began, eliciting curious looks from the Council. "Due to the backup of work that I'm experiencing, I had skipped dinner yesterday, and my betrothed has taken issue with my skipping meals." A quick glance at Sumia showed she clearly had no idea what Chrom was talking about. "Therefore, I have ordered the kitchens to prepare lunch for all of us, as I'm sure more than a few of you have skipped meals on account of this Council before." The Council muttered with surprised approval at this, with the exception of Duke Vyland, whose suspicious glare only intensified. "Robin, if you would?"

"Right," Robin said, a mischievous smirk crossing his face. He quickly hustled over to the door and leaned out of it, gesturing whoever was outside to come in. Seconds later, servants began filing in and began setting covered platters in front of each Councilor.

"One of the Shepherds proposed a rather interesting variation on this dish last night," Chrom said, his stoic façade slowly fading into a grin to match Robin's. "I approved of it, and so today's lunch is…" he raised his hand, and the servants simultaneously lifted the coverings on the platters, revealing their contents. "…roasted pork, slathered in brown gravy," Chrom finished, grinning triumphantly.

The silence in the chamber was overwhelming. Walter looked quickly to Chrom, who was looking utterly pleased with himself and looking at one person in particular. Walter followed his gaze to see he was looking at Duke Vyland, who was quickly morphing between so many colors and expressions that Walter couldn't even figure out what he was thinking.

 _The cheek of it!_ Walter thought in amused incredulity as Vyland's face finally settled on one expression: embarrassed rage. _Chrom, you absolute madman._ Quickly realizing what had happened (for surely word had gotten around by now of the incident at Vyland Manor the night prior), the Council broke out into raucous laughter. Vyland screeched in rage, so similarly to last night that even Walter's façade of stoicism broke, and he joined in on it. Vyland attempted to shout abuse at both him and the Prince, but he could not be heard over the thunderous laughter echoing around the room. Duke Vyland quickly had enough and stormed from the room, screaming in rage, as the Council continued to laugh.

Eventually, the storm of laughter dissolved into amused chuckling, and Chrom cleared his throat to speak. "How rude, I go through the trouble of having a meal prepared for him, and he storms off," he said with fake indignation, causing another round of laughter. "Now that that's settled," he said more formally once the laughter had died down again, "let's get to business. Robin, what is the first item on the agenda?"

The following Council session went by much faster than usual, with the core cause of obstructionism absent. Only a scarce few hours later, the Council concluded their unusually productive meeting, and Walter and Phila met with Chrom, Sumia, Frederick, Lissa, and Robin as the rest filed out.

"Prince Chrom, if I may be so bold," Walter greeted with a grin, "that was utterly mad…and utterly brilliant." He frowned, however, as Chrom's expression turned grim.

"I had to force his hand somehow," Chrom said soberly. "Your…prank last night gave me the opportunity."

Walter was utterly confused now. "Force his hand?" Walter repeated in a befuddled tone. "Force his hand in what?"

Before Chrom could answer, a horn call sounded. Walter paled at the sound. They'd issued horns to the guards after the night they'd met Panne, in case of…

"Assassins!" The call came. It was echoed by every guard, redundant as it was with the horn call. Promptly, the sound of clashing steel and screams began echoing through the hall. Walter drew his mace quickly, and Phila drew her lance.

"That," Chrom said darkly, tearing Falchion from its sheathe. "Frederick, take Sumia and Lissa, barricade them in the safe room." He then pulled the Fire Emblem from his arm and shoved it into his bodyguard's arms. "Take this as well. It must not fall into their hands."

"Milord?" Frederick stated in shock. "You _knew_ this would happen?"

"Yes," Chrom stated gravely. "Take them and go! Quickly!"

"And leave you to face them alone?" Frederick stated incredulously. "I will do no such-"

"That's an _order,_ Frederick!" Chrom shouted as he began striding toward the door. Frederick cursed, but nodded his assent. "I won't be alone. Robin, Walter, and Phila are with me. We're going to cleanse the Palace of these assassins."

000

Walter roared as he pulled the mace from his foe's skull. It parted with a sickening squelch, and the now lifeless body collapsed to the floor like so much refuse. Next to him, Phila kicked her own foe off of the end of her lance, growling in primal rage. They had fought their way from the Council Chamber to their current position, halfway to the Royal Apartments. The safe room containing Sumia, Lissa, and the Emblem were there, and Chrom wanted to ensure nobody made it past them. And nobody had, so far, but there were so _many_ of them! Dozens of assassins had practically stormed the Palace, with not an ounce of stealth or discretion.

"Arcthunder!" Robin barked, and a flurry of lightning shot down the corridor, scattering the next wave to cover but failing to kill any of them. "Chrom, the reinforcements should be coming through here shortly!" _Assuming that they remember the drills,_ Walter worried as he blocked a throwing knife.

"Right!" Chrom replied. "We hold here!"

The next wave of assassins rushed forward, and Walter barely managed to dodge an arrow that had been aimed at him. His head was still foggy from the night prior, and his wounds against the dark pegasus were acting up. His movements were slow, his attacks not as strong as they should have been. Even so, the assassins died when they hit the metaphorical wall that was the four of them. Walter took several hits on his armor, wincing when many of them hit close to this dark magic wounds, but shrugged of the pain and repaid each assailant in kind.

The bodies were beginning to render the floor invisible when they heard more shouts coming from down the corridor, followed by screams. The assassins in front of them hesitated, looking back at the direction their allies were now fighting in. The rest of the Shepherds poured around the corner at the far end of the hall, though Walter noticed a couple of missing faces. Casualties? He hoped not…

Walter took this moment of his enemies' distraction to channel his magic. He began the incantation, and probed beneath the earth with his mind, searching for…yes, there they were! He channeled his magic then into his target, and wrenched his arm upward, his hand emitting a sickly green aura. "Vine!" he shouted, causing the others to look at him in confusion. A few seconds later, however, his intent made itself clear. Dozens of meter-thick roots and vines erupted from the stone floor, each seeking out a target. The others winced as the magic-infused tendrils found their targets, striking into and through them with such force that they were pinned to the walls. The spell wasn't done yet, however; as the surviving assassins regrouped and tried to make their way around the newly sprouted forest of flora, the vines began hissing and emitting a sickly green gas.

"Do not let the gas touch you!" Walter commanded, taking several steps backward as the gas advanced. The others acknowledged him by scrambling to follow. The assassins, however, were not so quick, and were all caught in the gas. The effects of the gas were not immediate, but when they became known, _they became known._ The assassins began screaming and coughing, and the other Shepherds flinched in horror as their very flesh sloughed off their bones, and they began coughing up tainted blood. It took but a few seconds for the agonized, terrified screaming came to an end, and the vines retreated into the earth, the gas dissipating shortly thereafter.

"What…was _that_!?" Robin asked in horrified wonder.

"Earth magic," Walter stated simply, sheathing his mace and watching the other Shepherds attempt to pick their way passed the mutilated bodies and the new holes in the floor. The disgust evident on all of their faces made Walter smile dryly. "I take it you know nothing of it here in Ylisse?"

"Uh, no," Robin deadpanned. "And quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to at this point."

Apparently the sentiment wasn't unanimous however, as Miriel strode up to Walter the second she worked her way past the mess in the hallway. "What manner of arcane knowledge does one need to possess to cast such an efficacious, if mortifying, spell?"

"I will write up the incantations and method of casting," Walter supplied with a smirk. "At least someone approves of my spellcraft."

"In truth, I am quite nauseated," Miriel corrected, "but a scholar must maintain an objective mindset, and the efficacy of this spell is undeniable."

"Well, now that that's taken care of," Chrom announced queasily as the rest of the Shepherds regrouped, "Let's secure my family and the Emblem, and drive the rest of these bastards from the Palace!" There was a roar of agreement, before a sheepish cough caught Chrom's attention.

"That will...not be necessary, milord," Frederick stated, sidling out of the crowd, his expression one of a child caught with their hands in a cookie jar. "Princess Lissa and Lady Sumia insisted on regrouping with the others and contributing, and…I could not stop them."

Chrom glared at the man. "Couldn't, or didn't want to?"

"It's not his fault," Sumia piped up, forcing her way out of the crowd and coming to a stop in front of Chrom, one hand on her lance and the other on her hip. "I told him I'd gut him if he didn't let us out of that room, and how would he serve or protect any of us if he's dead?" She asked sweetly.

Chrom paled. "You're three months pregnant, Sumia!" he shouted incredulously. "The last place you need to be is on a battlefield!"

"Did your own mother not accompany your father to the battlefield when she was pregnant with Lissa?" Sumia countered hotly, and Chrom groaned and put his face in his hands. "I'm not going to just let you throw yourself at assassins while I cower in a safe room! I told you before, we fight _together._ "

"You can see now why I could not stop her," Frederick deadpanned. "She threatened to gut me had I not listened, and if I were killed by my own ally, the Princess would be without protection."

"I'm not helpless either, you know!" Lissa added indignantly from beside Lon'qu, who finally realized he was next to a woman outside of a combat situation and immediately leapt away. "I can cast magic now, Robin's been teaching me!"

Chrom groaned again, and Sumia and Lissa smiled in smug satisfaction. "Very well," he sighed. "Now, there are still assassins about, and-"

He was cut off by Lon'qu shouting wordlessly and tackling Lissa into the nearest wall. A half second later, two arrows sprouted from his shoulder, passing through where Lissa's head had been but a moment before. The Shepherds turned as one toward the source; more assassins had arrived.

"Form up!" Robin shouted. "Armored units in front, light armor behind, ranged units in back! Move!" The Shepherds jumped to, and Walter pushed his way to the front of the formation, Captian Phila beside him.

"Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter shouted as the assassins drew near. Several other Shepherds shouted their own battle cries in response. A half second later, he leapt forward, striking down the first of the assailants.

There were fewer assassins than the first wave, and the combined Shepherds blew through the assassins brutally and without mercy, under the meticulous and shrewd watch of Robin, who cast spells from behind them, all while directing the Shepherds back and forth. The assassins never had a chance.

"Something is wrong here," Walter said with dissatisfaction as he wrenched his mace free from the chest of the last assassin. "These assassins are poorly trained."

"I agree," Captain Phila said, having hardly broken a sweat. "These are nothing like the Plegian assassins who tried to kill Emmeryn. They're more along the lines of standard mercenaries."

Walter wracked his brain for an explanation. Vyland had sent them, that much was obvious. But if he had been planning this for a while, as Chrom and Robin's apparent foreknowledge seemed to indicate, then why would these assassins be so poorly skilled? They charged forward recklessly, with little to no attempts at the trickery and subversion assassins were known for. Either Vyland had contracted a regular mercenary outfit as Phila suggested, or…

"This is a distraction," he concluded aloud, paling. Phila contemplated his answer for a second, before her face paled as well. "They're after someone, or something, but it isn't the Prince."

"Blue!" a shout came from the opposite end of the hallway. It was Gaius, followed by Panne and Tharja, and they were all sprinting down the hallway at all speed. They were all extensively injured as well, even Tharja sporting several bandages, despite her habit of staying well away from combat and casting spells from afar. "We've got a problem!"

"Gaius?" Chrom wondered, before his face turned grim. "Don't tell me…"

"You were wrong, Blue," Gaius said, coming to a halt and panting heavily. "They weren't after you; they were trying to get into the Treasury Vault. There were dozens of them…we tried to stop them, but had to pull out."

"I don't blame you, I just wanted you to watch the door, not defend it with your lives. Nothing in there matters more than your lives," Chrom assured the man, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. _They were trying to get into the vault?_ Walter wondered. "What did they take?"

"Someone took up my old contract, Blue," Gaius said gravely, and Chrom's face paled. "They took the Regalia."

Chrom cursed, but Gaius shook his head, and Chrom's face paled further. "They took something else?"

"Not from the Vault," Gaius clarified, "but from the dungeon. General Thorne is missing from his cell."

 **AN:**

 **LOL YOU DIDN'T THINK I FORGOT ABOUT THORNE, DID YOU? YOU DIDN'T THINK I'D PUT SUCH HAM FISTED FORESHADOWING INTO THE PLEGIA ARC AND DO NOTHING WITH IT, DID YOU?** **IF YOU DID, YOU'RE FUCKING WRONG!**

 **I should probably refrain from drinking a literal gallon of Monster before writing AN's lol.**


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

 **Rebellion**

"I suppose I owe most of you an explanation," Chrom sighed as the Shepherds gathered in the barracks later that night. Robin stood next to him, and nodded subtly for him to continue. "I'll start from the beginning: Emmeryn knew there was going to be an attempt on her life," he said bluntly, and the Shepherds whispered among themselves. "This was all in her personal journal, which I received shortly after returning to Ylisstol from Regna Ferox, right after her capture." _He's known for all this time?_ Walter thought in shock. "Emm didn't know when, but she knew it would happen eventually. At least two, possibly three, members of the Council were planning to stage a coup d'état. She knew for certain that General Thorne and Hierarch Pavel were behind the conspiracy and suspected Duke Vyland as well, and after today, we can safely assume he was in it from the start."

"The Exalt _knew_ there was going to be an attempt on her life?" Phila interrupted in shock. "She…she never said anything…why wouldn't she say anything?..."

"She didn't want to drive the conspirators into hiding," Chrom explained. "Tipping you off and increasing the security of the Palace would have only succeeded in forcing the conspirators to be more subtle, and more difficult for Emm to track. She willingly placed herself at risk so she could move against them…" he looked down, shaking his head.

"How does this involve the Plegians?" Walter spoke up, confused. "The assassins were certainly Plegian in origin, especially that sorcerer that was leading them. I have a hard time believing Thorne would have cooperated with them willingly."

"I do not know the details, nor do I know how they got into contact at all," Chrom said with a shrug. "Gaius can only tell me that the man who let them into the Palace was in the employ of the Hierarch, so we can assume that the deal was made through him."

"Alright," Stahl spoke up, "so, General Thorne, Duke Vyland, and the Hierarch were planning to kill Lady Emmeryn, I understand that much. I don't really understand why, and how does that all factor into what happened today?"

"The assassination attempt failed," Chrom replied, "thanks to Marth and our Bersian friends," he said, nodding to Walter and implicitly acknowledging Gerald and Ellen. "They had originally planned on using the chaos following the assassination to kill or imprison myself and the Princess and seize power, before resuming my father's crusade against Plegia." The Shepherds each gave their own choice curse at that. "We stopped that from happening, and with Emm's capture and the subsequent march into Plegia, they didn't have another opportunity to try. Then, we imprisoned Thorne, throwing the conspiracy into disarray." _That was the real reason Chrom had me confront the man,_ Walter realized, both impressed with the Prince's seemingly atypical insight, and slightly repulsed that he would be so underhanded. Walter also felt distinctly…used. "With one member dead and another imprisoned, Vyland was forced to delay the plan. Robin pointed out that Vyland's easily angered, and our…activities last night gave us the opportunity to exploit that." A few of the male Shepherds, notably Gaius and Donnel, chuckled at that mention, while the women largely looked confused. "So, I provoked him into moving early. We were not, however, counting on them attempting to liberate Duke Thorne and steal the Regalia instead of killing me, and that is now our biggest problem.

"Duke Thorne was the mastermind," Chrom summarized to the now silent Shepherds. "Despite his close friendship with my father, he apparently decided that continuing the war was more important than that, even going so far as to try to kill us. He is by far the more dangerous of the two conspirators, ruler of the Duchy of Dornheim and all of its wealth, with a fiercely loyal contingent of soldiers under his direct command. He also has a large sect of support among the commonfolk, and could easily be supplied during a revolution…which is why we have to strike now, while the iron is hot, before they can properly regroup and plan their rebellion further. Panne is currently after them, tracking the thieves to their destination. When she finds them, we are going there to stop them. Are there any questions?"

"Why didn't you trust us with this?" Sumia said quietly, on the verge of tears, even as her face twisted in rage. She walked out from the crowd, stomping forward, before stopping right in front of Chrom and punching him in the face. Walter winced as he heard _something_ crack, and several of the Shepherds grunted in sympathy or winced as well. "Why didn't you let us help you? Even the _General of your army_ didn't know about this! Why would you put yourself at risk like that!? Using yourself as bait to draw Vyland out…how could you!?" she practically screamed, and Chrom flinched from the force of the shout, even as he rubbed his sore jaw. "Did you even think about what that would do to Lissa if you died today? Gods above, we _just_ buried Emmeryn, you dense fool, did you even stop to think about how Lissa would feel if you died too?" Chrom looked to his sister in pain, seeing that she was on the verge of tears as well, but could not respond as Sumia continued her tirade. "Even if you don't care at all about your sister, what about what it would do to _me_!? I'm carrying your _child_ , Chrom, and you never stopped to think what it would be like for your child to grow up without a father like you did!? Just to get a first strike on some conspiracy!?" Chrom withered under Sumia's fury, and she struck him again, this time on the shoulder. "I hate you!" she screamed, before turning and sprinting from the barracks, openly crying. Lissa herself broke down, and Frederick reached over to console her. The Shepherds largely recognized that now would be a good time to leave, and that their questions could wait, so they quickly scattered. Soon, the room contained only Chrom, Robin, Walter, Phila, Lon'qu, and Frederick, who was still consoling a furiously crying Lissa.

Chrom's face crumpled, and he walked over to his sister, kneeling next to where she'd sat down on the barracks floor. "Lissa, I'm…I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I couldn't see any better alternatives…I didn't mean to upset you."

"This is just so…stupid!" Lissa sobbed. "Why does Uncle Roark want to kill us? What did we ever do to him? What did Emm ever do to him? She looked at him like a father figure…we all did… Why can't you and the rest of the Council just work together on things? Politics are so _stupid!_ War is stupid! Why does everyone have to keep killing each other!? I'm tired of losing people…" she sobbed, before breaking down further. Chrom embraced her, whispering quietly into her ear.

"You need not fear for your brother, Princess, or anyone else." Walter said determinedly. "This plot stops now. I will lead the charge to stop them myself."

Chrom looked over to Walter. "No, I need to be-"

"You need to be here," Phila interrupted him sternly. "With your sister and your future wife. This…deception has hurt them both. The Shepherds will most certainly survive one mission without you to lead them."

Chrom opened his mouth to argue, but glares from the both of them curtailed his protest, and he sighed resignedly, before nodding. "You're right," he admitted. "I can't just leave them now, not like this."

"I think Sumia would kill you if you did," Robin said dryly. "Well, that's if she doesn't kill you anyway. You should probably go speak to her, actually, before she comes back down here with a lance in hand."

Chrom paled at that. "You're…you're probably right," Chrom stuttered. "Come on, Lissa, let's go find Sumia. You can both scream at me together," he said with a forced cheery tone. Lissa gave a sobbing, half hearted laugh, before allowing her brother and Frederick to help her up. Then they departed the barracks, and Walter turned to Robin.

"Prepare the Shepherds," Walter ordered. "I will gather some of the regular rank and file, and lead them against the rebels."

"Got it," Robin said determinedly. "Most of us have been trying to learn new ways of fighting, it'll be good to see what progress we've made on a real battlefield."

"I look forward to it as well," Walter responded. He hadn't known the Shepherds were improving their skills, but he certainly wouldn't argue with the development. "These rebels won't know what hit them."

000

Walter took stock of the "new and improved" Shepherds as they marched up to him the next morning, Robin at the lead. Miriel was carrying a stave in addition to her tome, and he knew from experience that she was getting rather good with it. Gregor stood beside her, dressed in a full suit of laminar armor, carrying his old, weathered steel sword on his shoulder, with a brand new war axe on his belt and his typical easy grin on his face. A large, segmented kite shield much like Khan Flavia's was mounted on his left arm now, as opposed to the single pauldron he'd used before. Maribelle was wearing some light armor and a battle tunic as opposed to her pink riding clothes, and Walter could tell just by looking at her that she was far more proficient with her spells than she had been before. Ricken rode beside her, mounted on a black destrier and wearing heavy armor that Walter was surprised could be made in the young man's diminutive size. He opted to wear his traditional mage's hat as opposed to a helm, and was wielding both a tome and a sword, much like Duke Themis. Stahl was next to them atop his own horse, wielding a bow in one hand with his old sword strapped to his waist. He was looking around absently, likely subconsciously looking for Cordelia, who was still in the Eastern Mountains. Walter hoped her absence wouldn't distract him. Sully was next to Stahl, decked out in even heavier armor than before, with a lance in one hand, a sword on her waist, and a poleax strapped to the saddle of her mount. Her left arm bore a heavy kite shield, emblazoned with a rearing panther; the symbol of her house. Walter was frankly surprised she could move with so much weight, but she looked perfectly comfortable, and Walter trusted that she was capable of fighting. Donnel rode behind her, blushing nervously with his hands around her waist, though Sully was clearly oblivious to his current demeanor. Had he still not confessed to her yet? Walter resolved to have a talk with the young farmhand… Donnel was armed and armored similar to Gregor, though he _still_ wore that brass pot on his head. It was more heavily dented and scratched than ever, but it was holding, and Walter had learned that it reminded him of home, so he took no issue with it. Next in the formation was Virion, mounted on a horse now, a thin rapier on his belt and a small buckler on his arm, and his new armor was of fine quality…yet he _still_ wore that bloody cravat!? Panne was next in line. She bore no weapons or substantial armor, but Walter knew she didn't need them; her beast form was terrifying to behold. Tharja stood sullenly beside Gaius, wearing more ornate robes than she had had before, with a jet-black tome in hand and her usual contemptuously bored expression on her face. Gaius was armored as he ever was, lightly in boiled leather, though Walter noted that his sword had been polished and sharpened. He'd rarely used it before, instead preferring to throw knives from a distance, but he must have been practicing with it. Libra was next in line, dressed in his battle raiment, his wicked looking war axe in one hand and a staff in the other. Olivia stood nervously beside him, clutching a fine edged, curved sword like Lon'qu's. Walter had seen the priest and shy dancer doing a ritualistic dance together once when he was going in for his evening prayers, and wondered if they weren't becoming close…The next Shepherd, standing behind them, was Vaike, grinning confidently. He bore a large set of gilded pauldrons now, with a large fur collar between them not unlike Basilio, and Walter could see a bow peeking over his back, but his torso was still largely unarmored. A few more scars were present than had been there when they first met, but apparently several brushes with death were insufficient to persuade him to wear armor. Nowi stood beside him, looking utterly bored and unthreatening, holding one of Vaike's hands. Walter pitied the man who underestimated her though; he had not seen her fight, but the stories of the other Shepherds set him ill at ease, tales of almost gleeful brutality in combat belying her childlike nature. Robin stood in front of them, giving out last minute directions. He now wore a set of gilded steel mail underneath his black and purple coat, and bore a new weapon; he had been told it was Gangrel's own sword, a jagged yellow blade capable of shooting bolts of lightning, the perfect weapon for the tactician.

Absent from the formation were Prince Chrom (who was comforting his irate wife and despondent sister), Sir Frederick (guarding his lieges, as ever), Lon'qu (still officially the princess' bodyguard; Walter noticed that at least around her, he was not quite so nervous anymore), Cordelia (again, in the Eastern Mountains with the Pegasus Knight recruits), Lissa and Sumia.

"They look good," Walter said to no one in particular. While some of them still looked a bit unused to their new weapons or armor, they overall looked meaner, tougher, and more ready for battle than ever.

"Yes, it makes me proud," Phila responded to his right, "and also a little bit ashamed." Walter turned and raised his eyebrow. "I simply mean that they have been trying so hard to improve their skills, yet we spend all of our time at formal functions or doing paperwork," Phila clarified. "It's been so long since I even picked up this lance and practiced…"

"If you wish for me to allot you time to practice, Captain, you need but to ask," Walter responded.

"If we wanted time out of the office, all we had to do was _ask?_ " Rickard piped up with a grin from Phila's right.

Walter shot him a deadpan look, and his adjutants both chuckled. "If it is part of your duties, I take no issue with absence from the office. I feel like I should be practicing myself," he admitted. He still wore his armor and mace to Council meetings, and got plenty of practice with dodging and blocking during the healing sessions with the dark pegasus, but he hadn't swung his mace in so long, it had practically felt foreign to him last night when they had fought the assassins.

"Perhaps you could take up another weapon as well," Rickard offered. "Or perhaps a mount. You referred to yourself as a paladin once when speaking of Ecclesia. We use that term as well, but for mounted troops trained to counter mages, as opposed to the war monks that your Order seems to be."

Walter hummed in thought at that. "Perhaps," he said after a moment, looking down thoughtfully at his mare. She was no destrier, of course, but he wasn't really uncomfortable atop her, per se. "I was always rubbish at fighting on horseback, but all it would take is sufficient practice…perhaps when things have calmed down a little."

"You're rubbish at fighting mounted," Phila said dryly, "and I'm rubbish at fighting unmounted. It seems we were made for each other."

"Yes, I suppose we are." Walter caught sight of Rickard's face-splitting grin, promptly turned a shade of red that would make Cordelia's hair jealous, saw Phila's face immediately match his own as the unintended meaning of those words hit her, and both promptly turned back forward.

"Robin, are we prepared to march?" Walter said loudly over Rickard's raucous laughter.

Robin turned back to Walter and shot Rickard a curious glance, before shrugging. "We're ready and waiting," Robin said as Rickard calmed down. "So, do you want command of the Shepherds, or…?"

"No," Walter responded. "You are a fine tactician, and I must command the Army at large. You may keep command of the Shepherds."

Robin blew a raspberry. "I was hoping you'd say yes, keeping these hooligans in line is a nightmare." The Shepherds broke out into laughter at that.

"You will not get away with malingering today, tactician," Walter chuckled. "The Shepherds shall take the lead. Panne, you said they were heading straight to Dornheim, correct?"

"Yes, man-spawn," Panne groaned in exasperation. "I know your hearing is not as sensitive as mine, and I know that you are aging, but do you really need to be told the same thing twice?" Walter grimaced as the Shepherds started laughing again.

"I suppose I deserved that," Walter sighed. "The Army will be right behind you, Robin. Let's get moving."

"Yeah, let's," Robin sighed.

"Is something wrong?" Walter asked as the Shepherds began moving toward the gate to the Palace.

"It just feels…I don't know," Robin finished lamely. "I guess I'm just wondering… _why_? By all accounts, even his own, Thorne loved Chrom's father like a brother, and treated their kids like his own. Hells, Lissa even called him 'Uncle Roark' back there. Why would he turn on them? He always seemed to hate Plegians, but this just…it doesn't match up."

"I cannot speak to his thinking," Phila supplied, "but I know that he must believe he has a good reason. He is wrong of course, but he believes himself to be right."

"Or perhaps he took Mother's death in battle harder than I'd suspected," Rickard supplied grimly. "He'd grieved and I'd thought he'd moved on, but perhaps I was horribly mistaken…"

"We'll get no answer here, that's for certain," Walter said decisively. "We'll find his reasoning soon enough, when we face him in battle. Are you prepared for that, Rickard?" He said soberly, turning to the young man. "Are you prepared to potentially kill your own father?"

Rickard paled and was silent for an uncomfortably long moment, before nodding. "Yes, General," he responded evenly. "Father has betrayed not just his liege, but the trust that the Exalted Line placed in him as a friend. He would undo all of Lady Emmeryn and Prince Chrom's hard work and wage war against Plegia once more, for whatever shoddy reasons he has. It is not only my duty as a knight, but my obligation as a friend to House Ylisse to depose this traitor…though it will not be easy," he admitted. "He is my father, after all, and beyond that, an incredibly skilled warrior. Undoubtedly he will be wielding Gradivus as well, so we must prepare for that."

"Tell me of the Regalia as we march," Walter commanded.

"They are beyond ancient, relics from before the days of Anri, the earliest ancestor of the First Exalt and the Hero-King…"

 **AN:**

 **I really like badly parsed German names for my duchies, sue me.**

 **Also, the marriages of the Shepherds thus far are as follows, and are based on my pairings in-game. I'll give a practical and romantic explanation for why I chose each. Mild spoilers for anyone who's reading a fanfiction about a game they've never played, I guess, it talks about the children's names and abilities.**

 **ChromxSumia: Memes about pies aside, Sumia's the sweetheart that Chrom deserves, it's as canon as any pairing in this game can be, and Chrom needs a taxi to be useful until you can reclass to Paladin, and FUCK YOU BRO FOR HATING ON THEIR SWEETNESS. And because Aether Cynthia is disgusting, and all of Cynthia's other fathers are better used on someone else. Besides Henry, anyway, but I always found that pairing to be a little jarring, and not in a good way. It hampers Lucina a bit if you stick to Great Lord, since it caps her strength at like 42 or something (don't have it on hand to look), but she's still perfectly good at her job, gets Galeforce, and is generally good. Not Morgan 2.0 like she would be if I'd used Femvatar for this story and gone full fanfiction, but still pretty good.**

 **SullyxDonnel, because Kjelle still gets a 51 Strength cap as General, which isn't quite the apparently popular Vaike!Kjelle that my friend subscribes too, but still pretty good, Galeforce is stupidly broken and should be on every unit possible, Armthrift w/ Gradivus and Helswath on a tank unit like Kjelle is absurdly stupidly good, and she gets Sol too, in case having a spear that can heal her wasn't tanky enough. I realize that Donnel is basically Vaike with worse mods and Aptitude to make up for it, but I rather like Donnel's supports with Sully, though I haven't even bothered with Vaike's to say that they're "better"**

 **StahlxCordelia: Stahl's the most in-demand father, which makes him a stud (which I made a brief joke about earlier), and Cordelia is apparently everybody's waifu, so it makes sense that Cordelia and Stahl hook up. Plus, I found their supports to be amusing and touching in equal parts.**

 **FrederickxPanne: because I enjoy the irony of a neurotic knight marrying what is essentially the embodiment of all of his fears. Also, Yarne desperately needs SOMETHING to make him offensively relevant in game, or able to take a hit, and PavGis, Luna, and Frederick's mods do both of those jobs splendidly. He also gets Dual Guard+, which is practically mandatory on units that end up being support units in pair up like him. If I don't marry Panne to Frederick, it's Kellam, but he's pretty much mandatory support unit at that point. If I don't marry Frederick to Panne, it's Cherche, but I don't want too many romances plugging up the Valm Arc, because the shit is going to hit the FAN in that arc and it's going to be a nightmare to hold everything together in a coherent narrative. Frederick!Gerome is also disgustingly good, even with the lack of truly useful skills outside of Luna/PavGis. Raw fucking stats is good any day of the week, and Frederick's mods are practically made for him. Cherche and Frederick's support is also top-tier as well.**

 **Lissa x Lon'qu: Yes, Sage Ricken!Owain is supposed to be the incarnation of Naga or something and Lon'qu makes that pretty much not a good idea for some reason, but I do not care. My friend laughs at my Swordmaster/Dread Fighter Owain, but I laugh at him for having a Sage screaming about his "sword hand". Lissa and Lon'qu's supports are sweet, it plays off of Lon'qu's introduction cutscene to the Shepherds, the contrast between Owain and his father is fucking hilarious, and Owain makes a stellar user of the Levin Sword as a Swordmaster, since he ends up with equal Str and Mag. I usually end up using him as a Dread Fighter for tome and axe abuse, though, so the Levin Sword bit was really only pre-Lost Bloodlines release.**

 **MirielxGregor: I do not like Vaike and Miriel together. I do not see why other people do. Maybe it's the whole "opposites attract" thing, but Miriel and Gregor does it better, and doesn't fucking gimp Laurent in the process. Gregor leaves Laurent's Mag stat alone, gives him what he needs to succeed, lets him play either a magical or a physical class (or both as Dark Knight, one of my personal favorite units), and most importantly grants him a bunch of skills that he absolutely abuses. Sorcerer Gregor!Laurent is stupidly good.**

 **VaikexNowi: Have you SEEN their supports? Nowi's and Vaike's other supports are her being a fucking dumbass and him being outright retarded, but Vaike's and Nowi's has them confronting her dilemma of outliving all of her friends and being alone, which is practically the only character growth Nowi has. In addition, Vaike!Nah is disgusting, Armsthrift on a Manakete with Dragonstone+ should be illegal.**

 **TharjaxGaius: My friend and I are headcanoning the fuck out of those two (and Cordelia) as refugees from Nohr after the events of Fates fucked everything up, and these two end up together because of the common history. Fuck the completely contradictory evidence that states Sumia and Cordelia are childhood friends, this shit is happening. Corrin saved the world, they decided to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge the fuck out of that place, and ended up in Ylisse. God, having a giant gate to other worlds on an island just south of the continent makes crack theories like that so much more viable. Plus, Gaius and Tharja's supports are alright I guess, and Gaius!Noire is good at just about anything she tries to do. She can go magic, she can go canon Sniper, she can go Dark Flier, she's great. She misses Armsthrift terribly from other fathers, but oh well. But fuck Tharja, she's not that good of a unit and she's an awful human being. I feel sorry for Gaius, but Noire's too awesome to get Tharja offed by some random enemy. Damn you, IS, for making me use her.**

 **LibraxOlivia: Yes, I know, I stole Chrom's wife and gave her to the trap, throw your rotten tomatoes and get it out of your system. My friend threatens to eviscerate me every time I bring it up. I, too, like my royalty marrying strippers- I mean "dancers". Their supports are sweet, Libra's not an emo in them, and Inigo becomes surprisingly competent at literally any of the classes that are now at his disposal. Plus blonde Inigo, chicks love suave blonde guys, I felt like giving him a bit of help in his love life.**

 **MaribellexRicken: Their supports are nice (as nice as a support can be with Maribelle in it anyway), they complement each other REALLY well in battle, Brady becomes unstoppable, and pairing Ricken with literally anybody else makes me want to vomit. He's such a fucking meme. Once in a while I do a playthrough where I swap spouses between Lissa and Maribelle for minmaxing purposes and I kind of want to die when I do.**

 **VirionxBench: Not only because he is the objectively worst father you can give a child, but because it never makes any sense to pair the group philanderer with anyone. It's a shame Virion's so awful, because he's one of my favorite characters. Nobody can hold up to the Archest of Archers!**

 **KellamxBench: Because what else would Kellam be but forgotten?**

 **HenryxBench: Because unfortunately, I have no real place for him aside from Sumia or maybe Tharja, and I like their pairings the way they are. And I would never inflict Tharja on Best Sorcerer.**

 **Robinx?: That would be telling ;) Jokes aside, you've probably gathered by now that Robin's wife-to-be is coming in later in the story. Is he going to go for the gold with Anna? Is it "Dragon Lady" Cherche? Is it the literal Dragon Lady Tiki? Is it Yellow Fever? Am I going to go full fanfiction and have him bone his best friend's daughter? Is he going to get himself impaled by one of the other Shepherds by robbing their cradle? Is Flavia going to rob the cradle (I headcanon her as around Chrom's father's age, and Basilio even older, hence why they have no romantic options besides Robin in-game)? Am I going to hamfist in some female character from Kingdom Under Fire as his wife? Is incest going to be wincest? Is he going to die alone? Is he going to have an extramarital affair with someone's spouse, or even some random one-off maid? Is he secretly in love with Virion? YOU'LL FIND OUT WHEN I DO, BECAUSE I'M MAKING THIS SHIT UP AS I GO ALONG! How about we get some reader engagement going and start a poll: Who do you think will/should be Robin's wife? Leave it in a review or message me. No guarantees that I'm actually going to do something with suggestions, mind you, but it's always nice to share opinions.  
Also, if you support ChromxOlivia or FrederickxCordelia, you are awful. Just fucking awful. Have the Prince marry a stripper and lock his most faithful knight in a loveless marriage. It's fucking bad, and you should feel bad, Chrom and Frederick don't deserve what you're doing to them. **


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

 **The Duke of Dornheim**

"He's come out to greet us," Robin said grimly as Walter dismounted his horse in front of the four hundred soldiers they'd brought from Ylisstol.

"I see him," Walter said gravely.

They had arrived at Dornheim two days after they had departed Ylisstol. Dornheim was the northernmost, westernmost province in Ylisse, sharing the border with both Regna Ferox and Plegia. It boasted a lucrative lumber trade, as well as being a major supplier of iron ore for the Ylissean Army. The scenery was so painfully similar to Ecclesia that Walter felt himself wanting to both leave immediately and stay forever. The same evergreen trees, the same scent of pine, the same snow-capped mountains in the distance…had he appeared here when he arrived in this world, he might have thought he was still in Ecclesia. However, the view was spoiled by the two hundred men at arms in front of him. At the front of the formation stood Duke Thorne himself.

His armor had apparently been retrieved when he'd been liberated, and he wore it proudly. If his time in prison had affected him, it did not show from this distance; he stood tall and strong, clutching the Gradivus in his right hand and a tower shield in his left. Emblazoned upon the shield was a single red, thorny rose, the symbol of his house. Walter's eyes narrowed at the Gradivus; it was a tall, heavy looking spear, with two half-moon blades flanking the main head of the spear. It had a finely polished black handle, and two red streamers hung from the half-moon blades. Rickard had warned him that the lance possessed the ability to heal its wielder.

Beside Thorne stood Duke Vyland, wielding a bow that Walter assumed must be Parthia. It was a well crafted, gilded longbow, with a pair of prongs jutting forward from the handle. The bow apparently warded magic, according to Rickard. A matching quiver was visible over Vyland's shoulder, and Walter could see the insufferable twit's sneer from here. The man himself was adorned in gilded steel armor, and of course it was horribly gaudy looking with the man's red cape.

The third person was unknown to Walter, but a quick inquiry confirmed it was Duke Thorne's personal bodyguard, Bastian. He was a giant of a man almost two decades older than Walter, wearing heavy steel armor, bearing a tower shield even larger than his lord's in one hand and a sword in the other. Walter matched the description Rickard had given him of the Mercury Rapier, known as Mercurius, to the weapon in Bastian's hand. It was a long, heavy looking weapon, with an elegantly serrated black blade, golden guard and pommel, and red handle. Rickard had told him that the blade lent the wielder the blessings of the gods, and the strength of every swordsman who'd ever wielded it. Walter was hesitant to test that claim himself, truth be told.

There was a fourth man, next to Vyland, and he assumed it was the man's own personal guard. He wore a full suit of gold armor, and a helm to match, and wielded a heavy silver battleaxe with two hands. His posture was decidedly relaxed, almost bored even. He was either foolish, or quite confident in his skill.

"I'll not speak to Vyland's skill with that bow," Rickard warned, "but Father is a master of the lance, and Bastian is a nightmare with any weapon. He's even sparred against my father bare-handed against his lance and drew a stalemate. Rumor has it that Karl, that warrior in the gold armor, is no slouch with an axe either."

"They're signaling to parlay," Robin said with a frown. Sure enough, Bastian had hoisted a white flag, and was waving it slowly. "Should we do it? We'll have to walk within longbow range of the walls, and I'm not very fond of walking into obvious traps."

"We're all wearing plate mail," Walter responded stoically, "and I'm not devoid of honor. He may very well wish to surrender."

"Why do I doubt that?" Robin asked dryly. Walter chuckled before gesturing forward. He, Robin, Phila, and Rickard all began marching forward. The enemy matched their steps, and they met midway between their two armies.

"Roark Thorne," Walter said imperiously as they came to a halt several paces from each other, "Your insurrection is at an end. Surrender peacefully, and you shall be granted a fair trial, and your men spared. Resist, and you will all face judgment here, at my hand."

"Chrom didn't come himself?" Thorne asked rhetorically, quietly. Walter frowned; the Thorne he remembered was loud, boisterous, almost aggressive in his mannerisms. This resigned, quiet man was a far cry from those days. Prison may have spared his body, but had it claimed his mind instead? "I don't blame him. He always thought highly of me…" he trailed off.

"He is comforting his future wife and his sister," Walter answered gruffly. "Your plots have left them both heartbroken. But no more. Again I say, surrender and face trial, or resist and face the Lord's judgment. I personally would face trial; the Lord has little mercy for oathbreakers."

"Phila," Thorne said, ignoring Walter and looking at the former Pegasus Knight, "you were there, the day Bertrand was murdered by the Mad King. We both were. What was it that he gave me before he made us flee?"

Phila frowned in confusion. "If I recall, a small blue book, with the Brand of the Exalt on the cover," she replied, nonplussed. "I'd thought it a strategy book for continuing the war, or something of that manner, and thought little else of it. Why is that important?"

Thorne reached behind his back, and the four of them tensed, but he pulled out a book to match Phila's description. Wordlessly, he tossed it to her, and she fumbled to catch it with her lance and shield in hand. "It wasn't a strategy book. It was his journal. I had hoped to give it to the Prince, but alas, he did not come. I trust you to deliver it to him."

Phila frowned deeper. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The Prince will undoubtedly explain it to you all in time," Thorne responded. "It is not my right to speak of it. But in there lies all of my reasons for doing as I have done…all for naught, it would seem."

"Father, quit speaking in riddles!" Rickard spoke up. "What are you talking about? Why would you betray House Ylisse? We both swore fealty to House Ylisse, to defend her people to our dying breaths! You were brother to Exalt Bertrand in all but blood! Yet you would wage war against them!?" He shouted angrily.

The elder Thorne's face crumpled briefly as he looked at his son, but he quickly collected himself. "As strange as it may seem, all I have done is for the benefit of Ylisse."

"I think we've heard enough," Robin sighed in exasperation. "This is just the same story that's played out hundreds of times before in history. Some power-hungry noble thinks he knows what's best for everyone, and does whatever it takes to get the power he needs to do it. But as always, his noble intentions are nothing but a ruse; he just wants power. You're no different, Thorne," he spat. "You can pretty it up all you like, but you just want rule of the halidom, and are willing to kill anyone in your way. Even those who looked up to you as children, who leaned on you for support after their own parents were killed. You're nothing but a petty tyrant. I look forward to watching your head leave your shoulders."

"Perhaps that is how history will see me," Thorne said with a shrug. "It matters not. I'm hereby ordering a conditional surrender of all of my men!" He shouted, loud enough for both armies to here.

"You _what_!?" Vyland screamed as the rest were shocked to silence. "After all the money I've spent, after all the horrid things I've done to fulfill my father's last wishes, you would _dare_ throw it all away!?"

"Yes," Thorne replied simply. Vyland's face turned scarlet in rage. "We've lost, you fool," Thorne scoffed. "We were always doomed to failure. I'll not throw the lives of my men away for your pride."

"This is because of that woman that visited you in prison, isn't it!?" Vyland shouted indignantly. The four were nonplussed. "That…'Marth', or whatever you called her!" _Marth?_ Walter wondered in shock. _What does she have to do with this?_ "Some gloomy words from some sellsword with delusions of grandeur, and suddenly you're ready to betray my father? To betray _Bertrand!?_ "

Thorne winced, but shook his head. "Bertrand did what he thought was right, but in the end, we were wrong," Thorne argued. "Again, it matters not. I'm not going to sacrifice all of these men for our egos. You and I both know their lives will be invaluable in the coming days." As Vyland spluttered, trying to come up with something to say, Thorne turned back to the four Shepherds. "But as I said, our surrender is conditional," he said gravely, before hefting Gradivus into a fighting stance. The other seven people each drew their own weapons, pointing them at each other. "If you defeat me in combat, then my men will stand down."

Walter narrowed his eyes. "If you believe you are doomed to failure, why do you still resist?" he asked as he settled into a fighting stance.

"I have failed," Thorne replied, "but I cannot face death, for that will surely be my punishment at a trial, without being sure that the one to take up my mantle is unprepared for the task ahead of him. I know of your past, General. I know you have the will and determination to do what must be done, even at the cost of your soul. I know of your ability as a strategist and an officer. The only thing left for me to measure…is your skill in combat. If I am to die and pass the torch of Ylisse's future onto another, he must be my equal or greater. I will accept nothing less. And if Marth was wrong, and I win here, then I will carry on with my mission."

"Roark," Phila said slowly, almost pleadingly, "you don't have to do this. Surely, if the contents of this journal are what you say they are, then we can at least convince the Prince to spare your life."

"You and I both know that the Prince has no choice in the matter, Phila," Roark snapped, and Phila winced. "The Council will cry for my head. The people who support him will cry for my head. Chrom will face yet another rebellion if he does not do what he must. I am a dead man walking. But even with my last breath, I shall serve Ylisse, by testing the new Grand General's ability. Let us speak no more of this, and get on with it."

"Father, this is madness!" Rickard shouted, openly pleading. His eyes were glistening.

"I've seen naught but madness for over twenty years now," Thorne replied sadly, looking at his only son. "So many dead…though I know our cause was just, the deaths of all of those people weigh heavily on my soul. I loathe that we live in a world where such things were necessary. You and Meaghan were my sole shred of sanity in this insane world. You made her proud, Rickard, as you make me proud even now. You will grow stronger than I ever was." Rickard's breathing turned haggard, and Walter knew without looking that the water in his eyes was now falling freely.

Thorne then turned to his allies. "Will you fight with me, Bastian? One last time?"

"I've no intention of this being the last time, milord," Bastian said in a slow, gravelly voice. "I swore my life to yours, and you will not fall so long as I live and breathe.

Thorne smiled, before turning to Vyland. "Will you fight with me, Terrence?"

Vyland glared at Thorne. "Oh, I'll fight alright," he spat, "But I've no intention of dying or losing here. Here me well, _General_ Lennart, you'd best ensure I die today, because I will not stop until my father's wishes are fulfilled." Walter narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Will you fight as well, Karl?" Thorne said to Vyland's bodyguard.

"It's what I'm paid for," Karl replied with a shrug, his voice surprisingly calm and light. "Plus, I always love a good challenge. These four look like they could measure up. Except your whelp there, he's obviously green as grass." Rickard narrowed his eyes, and overtly directed his leveled sword at him. "Ah, he's got some spine then. This should be good fun!"

"Very well then," Thorne said, chuckling humorously, before turning back to Walter and his friends and sobering up. "Prepare yourselves!" With that, he lurched across the gap with frightening speed. A half second later, the other fighters hopped into action, and they met in the center of the field in a thunderous crash.

000

Robin almost immediately lost track of what the others were doing. Walter had engaged Duke Thorne, Phila had narrowly dodged an arrow from Vyland and was now pursuing him, Rickard was tangling with Vyland's bodyguard, Karl, leaving him with the moving mountain of metal that was Duke's bodyguard, Bastian.

The man was certainly no slouch; he was a bit slower than Robin, but his armor was enchanted and resisted the quick thunder spell he'd cast, and he was an absolute _monstrosity_ with that blade, the Mercurius. He dived hastily to the side as Bastian gave an overhand swing, and he paled a bit when the blade impacted with enough force to carve a furrow into the earth. Any other sword would break or at least be dulled after that, but Robin was displeased to see that the Mercurius wasn't even so much as dirty. Enchanted to be indestructible, no doubt.

"Any chance we can talk this out?" Robin said weakly as the Mercurius sailed barely over his head.

"No," Bastian responded succinctly.

"Right, figured that," Robin sighed, before diving desperately again as Bastian gave another overhand swing. He rolled out of the dive and cast another spell, fire this time, but once again the powerful wards on Bastian's armor nearly nullified the spell. It reddened the blue plate mail a bit, but otherwise had no effect.

The next few minutes went by in a blur for Robin. Bastian was ungodly quick, just a hair slower than him despite wearing Robin's weight in armor, and Robin's sole attempt at blocking the Mercurius directly had resulted in his arms nearly breaking, so he was forced to spend all of his time dodging. What few strikes he managed to get through Bastian's harrowingly competent guard either skittered off of his plate mail, or seemingly had no effect.

"You're not bad, boy," Bastian said with a tone of appreciation as he rolled his sword arm, working out the discomfort of the flesh wound Robin had given him. "This is the longest spar I've had in ages, barring milord and the Prince."

"I aim to please," Robin heaved, nearly bent over double from exhaustion. He needed to figure out a way out of this situation, and fast. Bastian was clearly a veteran of many battles; his stamina was greater than Robin's, despite his age and heavy armament. Robin could only score glancing blows or mildly irritate him with spells, and he glanced at his apparently ineffective sword in frustration. If he just had a way of getting the spells past that damned warded armor… _wait, that's it!_

Bastian charged once again. Robin slid to the side, barely avoided the backhanded blow Bastian attempted with his tower shield, and quickly jabbed out with his Levin sword after sliding around behind him. His aim was true, and the jagged blade became lodged in the man's armor, the tip of it embedded in the flesh of his armpit.

"Good aim," Bastian complemented with a pained grunt, peering under his arm at the winded tactician, the sword still lodged in his arm. "You appear to be stuck, though. You'll have to do better than that."

"Checkmate," Robin said with a smug grin, before channeling his magic into the blade of his weapon, causing it to begin emitting sparks. Bastian's face had just enough time to show panic, before the enchantment on the sword activated and tens of thousands of volts were poured directly into his body.

000

"I never did like you," Vyland snapped as he fired yet another arrow. "Pretentious cunt," he snapped again as another arrow barely missed Phila's head. "You and your damnable father, so unbearably smug, and utterly lacking class."

"Worthless talk from a little rat that hasn't done anything of note," Phila spat back as she slid around yet another shot. She had to admit, Vyland at least had talent at archery; he'd grazed her arm on the first shot, and the others had either been barely caught on her kite shield or narrowly dodged. "Aside from betraying his sovereign, at any rate."

"I betray no one!" Vyland roared angrily, shooting two arrows at once that time as he leapt out of her reach yet again. Phila barely managed to scramble out of the way of both arrows. "Exalt Bertrand gave Duke Thorne and my father very explicit orders in the event of his death! I seek only to fulfill them!"

"I will not listen to your lies, wretch," Phila snarled as she chased after the slippery young Duke. She refused to believe Bertrand would order the death of his own children.

"Oh, they aren't lies," Vyland said with a cruel grin as he leaped back from another blow. "Perhaps when the Prince is done with that little book, he'll let you read it, and you can see for yourself. Maybe you could even read it with your lover there, curled up in front of a fire," he said, gesturing toward where Walter and Thorne were trading blows furiously. "After all, we all know you didn't get your position as his adjutant because of your skills…outside of the bedroom at any rate."

Phila's pupils dilated in rage. "How dare you!" She screeched as she charged madly at Vyland, barely leaning out of the way of his hastily fired arrows. She chased him around briefly, hurling abuse and stabbing at him, and Vyland just barely managed to escape each time, barely having any opportunity to shoot at her. She lunged at him with her lance as he stopped to draw an arrow, only to curse as the little snake slithered out of the way, and the tip embedded in the earth. She ripped it out furiously and turned to where the young Duke stood, panting and nocking an arrow wearily. "The General would do no such thing! He is a man of honor, something I'm sure you know nothing about!"

"What was it your father said all those years ago, when he shamed you publicly?" Vyland taunted. "'All it takes to get you in bed is a few pretty words', or something to that effect? If I can complement the General on one thing, it's being very well-spoken. I'm sure you were practically _tearing_ your clothes off within minutes of meeting him!" Vyland then screamed in pain as Phila's lance embedded itself in his left arm, nearly severing it. He hadn't been expecting her to throw her only weapon at him, and he dropped Parthia, panting madly in pain and desperation as Phila stalked closer. He hastily attempted to draw his rapier, only for a well placed kick to land against the side of his head as he freed it from its sheathe. He dropped to the ground, dazed, his rapier landing just out of his reach.

Phila picked up the rapier, examining it briefly, before turning back to Vyland. "Your last words, oathbreaker?" she asked shortly as she placed the tip on his neck.

"Rot in the nine hells, you cun-" his last words were cut off as the tip of the rapier embedded itself in his throat. It did not kill him outright, however. Blood immediately began pouring from the wound in torrents, and he began choking on it as Phila stormed away.

000

"This isn't personal, kid," Karl said with a shrug as he swung his axe at the younger Thorne. "I don't have any particular desire to kill you, per se. I do what I get paid to do."

"So that is all this is for you?" Rickard said with disdain as he rolled out of his dodge and leapt forward, barely missing with his longsword. "Just another job? There is no stake for you, no real reason to fight?"

"Money's more real than any of your imaginary reasons," Karl chuckled as he sidestepped and swung vertically, forcing Rickard to scramble out of the way. "You can't buy food with honor, can't pay your tab at the bar with fealty, and can't warm your bed with integrity. You can keep all that; I'm just here to make some coin."

"You surely realize that you're likely to die here, right?" Rickard said as he began circling his opponent. "What good is your money if you're not alive to spend it?"

"What good's your honor if you're not alive to enjoy it?" Karl countered. "Besides, I've been in much worse scrapes than this. I spent the last four years fighting in Valm, against people far stronger than anyone here in Ylisse, and…oh damn, there goes my pay day," he sighed. Rickard raised an eyebrow curiously and turned to see Phila ripping Vyland's own rapier from his throat. "Well, that sucks," Karl sighed again.

"Then will you surrender?" Rickard asked, turning back around to where Karl was leaning on his axe haft casually.

"Nah," Karl said cheerily, before gripping and swinging his axe so quickly that Rickard barely had time to dodge.

"But I thought you were just in it for the coin!?" Rickard shouted incredulously as he barely avoided Karl's next horizontal swing.

"Coin's good, great actually," Karl said between breaths as he swung viciously at Rickard, who somehow managed to block or dodge all of them, "but there's _nothing_ like a good fight!" he laughed, almost madly, as he kicked Rickard in the chest. Not expecting such a move, Rickard was ill prepared for it, and was sent sprawling to the ground. Before he could stand, an armored boot slammed down on his sword arm, and he cried out in pain as his grip involuntarily loosened on his weapon.

"That was a good fight," Karl said, panting heavily. "You put on one hell of a show for how green you are; I think your troops would be clapping if they weren't terrified of you dying. Now, I know it sucks to die alone, but look on the bright side! You'll see your old man soon enou-hngh!" He looked down to see the haft of a lance protruding from his side, where the front and back of his breastplate were joined.

"He's not alone," Phila growled in his ear, before ripping her lance viciously from his side. Karl struggled to say something, but could not, and fell to the ground where he did not move again. Phila then bent down and extended a hand to Rickard. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes," Rickard assured her, before looking distastefully down at Karl's corpse. "What good is life if you only live for the next payment, or the next fight?"

"Not very good at all," Phila assured with a warm smile, before setting her features in a serious grimace; Walter was _on fire_. "The General is in need of assistance. Let us aid him."

000

Walter grimaced as he blocked yet another blow from Gradivus, and batted the blade of the enchanted spear aside. Most weapons could barely scratch his enchanted shield, but that lance had already carved two deep furrows across the holy cross adorning the center. As much as he didn't want the holy symbol to be desecrated further, the shield was the only reason he yet lived, and so he continued relying on it.

Thorne was certainly no novice. He struck swiftly, brutally, with expert precision and not a hint of hesitation. He had also fought mages before; he knew when Walter was about to cast, and was either out of the way, or able to absorb most of the damage with his own tower shield.

"Is this all you have?" Thorne growled, sounding disappointed as Walter blocked his next strike and struck out, only to be blocked in return. "I expected better from you."

Walter growled and grimaced. "This is no game, Thorne," he said shortly.

"Indeed it isn't," Thorne countered as he swept Gradivus in a wide, sweeping arc, forcing Walter back further. "Which is why I'm wondering why you're not giving it your all."

"Restraint is a virtue," Walter countered as the two began circling on another.

"Indeed?" Thorne chuckled derisively. "Tell me, what will happen when you're not facing a man resigned to his fate, hmm? What will you do when you meet an opponent of my skill, who wants nothing more than to burn Ylisse to the ground, and you along with it? Am I to trust Ylisse to a man as 'restrained' as you?"

"I will trust in the Lord to guide my mace," Walter replied determinedly. "My strength comes from His Grace, my skill from His Will. I answer to Him alone. Regardless, Ylisse is not yours to bequeath to anyone; I fight you because you do not yield, not for your satisfaction."

"Oh, so you think I will yield, if you simply dither about?" Thorne asked condescendingly, before spitting off to the side. "You are wrong. If I survive this day, I _will_ continue my rebellion. I will kill or imprison all that you care about. The Prince, the Princess, your Shepherds, even my own son if I must. Plegia must be exterminated, for the welfare of all, and nothing will stand in my way should I throw off the shackles of fate today." Thorne's gaze grew shrewd as Walter remained impassive. "I will kill Phila as well, General. I may have failed with the poison, but I do not require it to end her. Gradivus will do just fine."

Walter's temper flared then, and he leapt forward, striking furiously at Thorne. "It _was_ you!" He snarled as Thorne counterattacked and he sidestepped. "You tried to kill the one you once loved, with a coward's weapon no less, and for what? Avarice and a lust for power?"

"For the good of Ylisse," Thorne corrected, smiling grimly now. "As dear as Phila was, and to an extent still is, even she will not stand in my way."

"You black hearted scum!" Walter roared as he swung again, channeling a fire spell through his mace simultaneously. The spell exploded from his mace as it made contact with the man's shield, and Thorne cursed bitterly as he tried futilely to shake the heat from his arm. Walter growled, an almost primal sound, before he took a step back. "You wish to see my full strength? You wish me to give my all to this fight? Fine." Walter then began the mental incantation for that most dangerous of spells: Holy Flame. A second later, the fire leapt to life around him, purging him of all fatigue and injury, and Thorne gave a wry smile.

"Yes, I heard of this," he said contemplatively. "This spell, you used it to defend Themis…and it almost killed you, if the stories are true. Very good. You have the will to defend Ylisse, even at the cost of your own life; let us see if you have the strength to last to the battle's end." Thorne dashed forward again, thrusting Gradivus at Walter.

Walter batted aside the holy lance with almost casual indifference, before striking out at Thorne. The Duke managed to get his shield up in time, only for the sheer force of Walter's blow to bevel in the curved surface of the shield, and Walter heard the distinctive sound of bone breaking, causing Thorne to clutch his arm momentarily in agony. Walter frowned, however, as the ruby on Gradivus' blade gave off a bright red light, and Thorne quickly shook his arm. _Gradivus truly does heal the wielder,_ he realized grimly.

"What shall last longer, hmm?" Thorne asked mockingly. "Your life force or the power of Gradivus?" He leapt forward again, thrusting at Walter's head.

The two began exchanging blows furiously then, at speeds that the surrounding armies struggled to even see. Walter saw it all, though; the razor edge of Gradivus as it just narrowly missed his head, the dents and scratches that were rapidly compiling on Thorne's armor as Walter's enhanced strength caved them in, the beads of sweat dropping down Thorne's forehead as Walter's assault only grew in ferocity. With each narrow failure to guard, Thorne's bones would break and flesh would tear, only for Gradivus to alight and heal his wounds near instantaneously.

Then, all of a sudden, everything came to a sudden halt. There was a brief flash as Gradivus attempted to heal Thorne again, only for the lance to be ripped from his grasp entirely and thrown aside by a furious Walter. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a deafening silence as Thorne teetered, before falling on his back. The center of his breastplate was impacted completely inward, and he was struggling to breathe.

On Walter's part, the flames wreathing him almost completely guttered out, before he fell to one knee, panting in utter exhaustion. While he hadn't been fighting for hours, like at Themis, the sheer ferocity of the battle and strain of the Holy Flame left him drained.

"Walter, are you alright?" someone asked him. Arms encircled his shoulders. He looked up blearily to see Phila crouched next to him, looking at him in concern.

"I am…fine," Walter gasped. He coughed then, and a bit of blood came up with it. "Perhaps not completely fine," he amended, giving a dry, raspy chuckle.

"Father!" Rickard shouted. Walter looked over to see Rickard kneeling next to the prone body of his father, trembling horribly. He heard some quiet speaking; Thorne was still alive.

"Help me up," Walter begged of Phila. She acquiesced, pulling him to his feet and letting him put some of his weight on her shoulder. The two of them hobbled over to Thorne, whose hand was in Rickard's, as the young boy openly sobbed.

"Damn it all," Rickard spat bitterly, "why, Father? Why would you do this?"

"All…will be made clear," Thorne gasped. A bit of blood came up next; he had crushed the man's rib cage beneath his armor, Walter realized. His ribs were stabbing into his organs. The fact that he could talk at all, or even breath, was a testament to his fortitude. His death would come soon. "Everything I did…was for Ylisse."

"Damn you, Roark," Phila said as she lowered Walter back to a kneeling position, before kneeling next to him herself. "You stubborn, impossible fool."

Thorne gave a dry, pained smile at that. "It always was a wonder that you loved me," he chuckled, his voice incredibly breathless and faint. "You couldn't stand me half the time."

"And the other half of the time you were the greatest man I'd ever known," Phila whispered, tears streaming down her face. "What happened to you, Roark? What happened to the man I loved?"

"He was…insufficient," Roark explained, grimacing, though whether from pain or remorse Walter could not tell. "Necessity demanded a stronger, colder Roark. The General knows…of what I speak." Walter nodded reluctantly, grimly. He'd been a different man before the Army, before Greyhampton. Perhaps cold, but never ruthless. Perhaps unbendingly faithful, but never so overzealous…the reality of war changed one in ways one could never expect. "The task that was set before me…there was little room for kindness. None for mercy. I gave everything for Ylisse…even my soul." He turned to Walter then. "You passed my test," he said, a pained, wry smile coming to his face. "I can pass on, knowing Ylisse is safe in your hands." He then weakly gestured for Walter to come closer.

Walter obliged, leaning his head closer to Thorne's mouth.

"Watch over Ylisse…and…take care of Phila," he whispered, his voice so faint that Walter could barely hear it. "I know you care for her. Don't deny it. Embrace it. Be for her what I could not." Walter leaned away and looked at the man, who was now grinning that same grin he'd seen on Rickard's face so many times, whenever he'd teased the pair of them. Walter just now realized how much Rickard resembled his father. Why, if you added a few age lines to the younger one, you'd never tell the difference.

"I will look after Ylisse," Walter said at length. His duty prohibited him from obliging Thorne's last request of him, but he could at least honor the first.

Thorne gave a wry laugh, some blood spurting out of his mouth. Rickard quickly wiped it away, but Thorne didn't seem to notice or care. "You'll learn," he said simply, still wearing that grin. Walter knew what he meant, and frowned. Thorne laughed, causing more blood to fountain. "Now, grant a dying man his last words to his son."

"Farewell, Roark," Phila said giving a single sob as she pulled Walter to his feet.

"Farewell, General Thorne," Walter said as Thorne watched them stand to leave. "May the Lord have mercy on your soul."

"May Naga's light bless your path," Thorne responded, before turning to his son. Phila and Walter walked somberly away as the two began talking, the voices becoming ever quieter. As the two of them reached their army, where Robin and the rest of the Shepherds were waiting morosely, Rickard let out a howl of agony.

 **AN:**

 **Why is Roark such a cunt? Why does he think he was doing anything but being a pain in the ass? You'll find out, I promise you. But RIP OC's Thorne and Vyland, it was nice knowing (one of) you while it lasted.**


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

 **What Friends Are For**

"Captain, are you alright?" Walter asked gently as he walked back into the office. They'd delivered Exalt Bertrand's journal together, but Walter had dismissed her while he'd given the report to the Prince, seeing that she was clearly not up for it. He hadn't expected to see her in their office when he returned there to work, standing in front of the window and staring numbly out of it.

"Not really, General," Phila sighed, before turning around, "but I will survive."

"I figured that much," Walter said with a small laugh. "If there's anything you're good at, Phila, it's surviving. I'm more concerned about how you're feeling. What happened…it can't be easy."

"It isn't," Phila sighed, before walking over to her desk and sitting on the edge of it. Walter moved to stand in front of her, leaning casually against Rickard's empty desk. He had excused Rickard from all formal duties for as long as he deemed it necessary. The young man had remained behind at Dornheim, to take care of things there. "I…I didn't 'love' him anymore, but I still cared deeply for him. As more than a friend, but…maybe like a brother?" she supplied helplessly. "I wouldn't know. I never had siblings," she finished with a dry laugh.

"That sounds most likely," Walter responded. "I had no siblings myself, but that feeling you're attempting to describe sounds like what I felt towards Justino and Kendal. I considered them brothers."

"Roark used to trust me with everything," Phila said wistfully, staring at the ground. "Even after the…incident with my father, Roark did not stop talking to me. It pained me, of course, since he would never allow discussions to go down _that_ route, and never touched me beyond a formal handshake, but he trusted me nonetheless. I'm surprised my father tolerated it, but perhaps he knew that Roark wouldn't try anything again." Phila sighed. "The friendship was fairly one-sided, since I spent most of my time pining for him rather than being a true friend…I believe I finally moved past him on the day of his wedding, as cliché as that sounds. I'd secretly hoped he'd call of the engagement and come back to me, but as they swore their vows, I'd realized I'd lost him. I knew his wife, of course, and she knew that I still cared for him, but she trusted me around him all the same. Or perhaps she more trusted him around me… I suppose it doesn't matter. They got married, and I got over it. When Rickard was born, they used to ask me to care for him when they were otherwise occupied with their formal duties. Eventually I grew to be fast friends, actual friends, with them both… Then, when Rickard was still an infant, the first crusade happened. I ended up assigned to Exalt Bertrand's personal company, and Roark and his wife were serving in it as well. As ghastly as the war was, those were…enjoyable days," she said, smiling wistfully, before her expression went grim. "Until the last battle of the war, at any rate. We'd just destroyed a major temple of the Grimleal, one we suspected of being their main base of operations, when we were surrounded by the Plegian Army. Bertrand bade most of us flee, keeping only the late Duke Vyland, both their wives, and some soldiers with them…Roark changed that day. Until Emmeryn declared an official end to the war months later, he did his damnedest to ensure every Plegian he ran across was slain…I'd never seen him act like that. Roark was never one for revenge, and he wasn't _angry,_ per se, just…cold. Heartless. Single minded in his desire to destroy Plegia. I cannot say what he was thinking. I suppose it's all…history from there," she sighed again, and looked up at Walter, who'd remained silent out of respect. "He was a good man once, Walter," she said once, almost pleadingly. "I know you've seen nothing but evil from him, but you _must_ believe me when I say he wasn't always like that."

Walter held up his hands. "I believe you, Phila," he responded. "War changes us all. Some more than others. I cannot approve of his actions, but I understand what happened to him." _From experience,_ he didn't add. How much colder was he now than he was when he'd joined the Army? He'd joined as a bright eyed, fresh faced young lad eager to prove himself. When he'd gone to meet Rithrin near Greyhampton, he'd been a cold, cynical "soldier of God", who spent most of his time actively trying to commit genocide on the subhumans of Bersia. How much longer would he have had before he ended up fully like Roark, consumed by bloodlust?

Phila visibly sagged in relief. "Thank you," she whispered, hugging herself. "I know how people will react. They will say horrid things about him. And he honestly deserves them, but…I knew him before. He wasn't always so cold. He was a good person once. It's just…nice to hear that I won't be the only one who realizes it."

"It is more than just us who see that," Walter said comfortingly, standing up to move closer to her. "The Prince and Princess know him from their childhood, do they not? His own son yet lives, and who better to know the quality of a man than his own son?" _Though Thomas was horribly wrong about me_ … "Most of the Council knew him well, for years. His own men were willing to strike against the Exalted Line out of loyalty to him. The commonfolk will talk, yes, but that's all they ever seem to do, isn't it?" He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, a single tear running down her face. "Roark's memory will not be buried by his mistakes. Not while he has friends like you to carry it forward."

To his surprise, Phila leapt up then, wrapping him in a hug faster than he could realize what was even happening. Within seconds, he felt her begin to shake and heave; he realized she was crying into his chest. So he wrapped his arms around her, and let her. After all, that's what friends were for, wasn't it?

000

Three weeks had passed since the events at Dornheim. Phila and Rickard were still both formally dismissed from their duties, though Phila would occasionally come by and help for a spell. Rickard had been forced to remain at Dornheim for the entire duration and attend his father's affairs…and the funeral. He had recently decided he would need to speak to the young lad about his role in Roark's death, but now was not the time. Between his injuries and his exhaustion, he was working at less than optimal capacity, and his mind could not work through the issue properly. And this was not a topic to tread lightly.

He had resumed his healing sessions with the dark pegasus upon returning to the capital. The five or six days between the "Night That Never Happened", as Phila had sarcastically called it the next morning, and the return to Ylisstol from Dornheim had seen the pegasus' condition regressing rapidly. Its coat hadn't fully reverted to its original obsidian hue, but was only a few shades lighter, and its magic was apparently back to full strength. Walter had had to resume the daily sessions immediately. Phila insisted on helping, of course, despite being on furlough, and Walter couldn't bring himself to deny her. He knew she would feel useless just lying about. Even so, he wished she would refrain and allow another healer to take over; Walter could see the pain she felt on her face as she treated his increasingly severe wounds. He knew she worried for his health, and with the fresh grief of Roark's death… Walter wished there was another way.

"You look distracted, General," a voice said from beside him. Walter was not a man easily startled, but when someone speaks to right next to you when you thought you were alone…well…it was startling. He jumped visibly and snapped his gaze around so quickly he felt the muscles in his neck strain. It was only Robin, however. "I didn't mean to frighten you," Robin chuckled as Walter exhaled deeply. "I came to speak with you about the trade route to Bersia, but I can see you're otherwise occupied. So much so you didn't hear me knock, open the door, or try to greet you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Walter almost denied on principle, but briefly evaluated himself. In short, he was too old and tired to play the stoic. "Yes, I suppose I should," Walter sighed, before leaning back as far as his chair would allow. "I am worried about Phila," he stated simply, before giving a brief overview of his situation.

Robin nodded and cupped his chin thoughtfully. "You're worried she'll break," Robin summarized.

"Yes, and no," Walter replied hesitantly. "She is a strong woman, and I'm not sure the stress will break her, but…she has gone through enough over the past few months. I tire of seeing her in distress."

"Well, it sounds like we need to change tactics then," Robin said, a grin coming to his face. Walter recognized that grin; it said "I have a plan."

"What do you suggest?" Walter asked.

"I will help you," Robin stated. "We'll both drain the dark pegasus' magic. Maybe I could even convince Tharja to help as well, she's still a bit obsessed with me, although it has calmed down a bit since Gaius started trying to get cozy with her... We'll get more healers, too; Lissa recently finished her training on casting wards, and Maribelle's known how to do it for a while now, since right before the war ended. With you and Libra, that makes six of us. You know what they say, 'many hands make light work' and all that."

Walter frowned in disapproval. "Absolutely not," Walter responded shortly. "These sessions are _dangerous_ , Robin. Not only do the casters and healers have to maintain fairly complex, continuous spells, but they must do so while dodging the beast's retaliatory strikes. It takes most of my not inconsiderable skill to avoid most of the strikes. I do not mean to insult the Princess or Lady Maribelle, but they are quite simply not up to the task. I will not risk the only official heir to the Exalted line, nor do I wish to risk Maribelle's life. I am good friends with both her and her father, and could not look him in the eye again if something were to happen to her. This is _my_ burden, and I shall bear it alone, with as little help as is required."

Robin furrowed his brows in frustration. "You're being unreasonable about this," Robin responded just as shortly. "You say you don't want to worry Phila any longer, yet you refuse the best solution to the problem. You can pretty it up all you like, but you're just being stupid and proud." Walter grimaced in anger at that, but Robin wasn't done yet. "So, I'm ignoring you," Robin said with a smug grin, and Walter frowned. "I'm going to ask the others if they wish to help. If any of them agree, which I'm fairly certain they will because they're also worried about you, I'll have them up there tonight. After all, aren't friends supposed to help each other?" As Walter struggled to come to terms with the sheer impertinence Robin had just displayed, the man dashed from the room, closing the door behind him before Walter got so much as a word off.

"Bloody tactician," Walter snarled as he realized he would be unable to stop him. Sighing in frustration, he decided to get back to work. He had a lot to do before tonight.

000

"Walter, glad you could join us," Robin said smugly as Walter stormed into the Northeast Tower later that night.

Walter shot a heated glare at the tactician, who just shrugged it off with a laugh, and Phila looked at Walter, confused.

"Why is Robin here?" Phila wondered. She then took stock of the others present; Tharja, Maribelle, Lissa, and Libra. "Why are all of these people here?"

"Remember when I informed you that you would be unhappy with the arrangements for tonight?" Walter asked. Phila nodded. "Our illustrious tactician has taken the liberty of asking the Princess, Lady Maribelle, and Tharja to assist us."

Phila's eyes immediately narrowed at Robin. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" She said in a low, dangerous voice, and Robin took an involuntary step back. "These three could very well die!"

"Like you'd care if I died," Tharja snorted.

"That's not the point," Phila said in exasperation, not denying the accusation at all, before turning back to Robin. "The point is that Robin went against the General's very explicit orders and is now endangering two notable people, one being the Princess of the realm!"

"Hey, I'm here because I want to be!" Lissa interrupted heatedly. "We're both here because we want to be!"

"My darling Lissa is correct," Maribelle added haughtily. "We are here because we volunteered when Robin asked. He did not force us, and had we known the situation was this dire, we would never have contented ourselves with merely sitting on the side and letting you shoulder this burden alone as long as we have. We are helping you, and that is final."

Walter groaned in frustration as Phila opened her mouth to argue further, but she stopped when he put a hand on her shoulder. "Let it go, Captain," Walter sighed. "Robin is not under my command; he's not formally part of the Army. He answers only to the Prince. And we have no authority over the Princess and Lady Maribelle."

"Quite so," Maribelle stated smugly.

"I want it officially known that I protest this decision," Phila stated grumpily.

"As do I," Walter agreed, "but we cannot stop them." Nothing said that he couldn't try to protect them while they helped, of course.

"Nope, you can't," Robin said cheerily, earning him another glare from Walter. "Now, shall we get on with it?"

"Yes, I suppose we should," Walter sighed in resignation. "Do you already know how to cast the spell?"

"Yeah, Tharja taught me earlier," Robin responded as they began walking toward the pegasus' stable. The creature struggled nervously against its chains and whinnied angrily. "I think it knows what's about to happen."

"The same thing has been happening every night for a month now," Walter responded, pooling his energy and letting the dark magic flare to life in his hand. Libra, Lissa, and Maribelle were just behind them, readying their own staves. Phila was standing in the background, getting ready to assist anyone who was injured. "Hopefully, the poor creature will not have to endure it much longer." With that, he fired the spell, and the others followed suit shortly thereafter.

Walter immediately noticed something was wrong when the pegasus outright screamed as the flurry of spells connected. To Walter's immense shock its few attempts at trying to counterattack the lot of them were outright redirected…straight at Robin. Walter moved to place himself in front of the young tactician, but stopped when he realized that the magical attacks were being pulled into Robin's own dark magic tether. The tether swelled in size, and did not shrink again, and the pegasus began writhing madly within its bonds as Robin continued draining its energy at a rate that utterly awed Walter. Walter was so shocked that he lost control of his spell, but Robin's own tether greedily consumed it, increasing even further in size.

Walter frowned in worry as within seconds, the pegasus stopped writhing and calling out in pain; it sagged in its chains, panting heavily, its eyes frantic and wide, clearly in so much pain it couldn't even muster the breath to scream. His jaw dropped as before his very eyes, the creatures coat began brightening by several orders of magnitude. First it turned the color of iron, then the color of unpolished steel, and continued lightening further, and the creature's aura of dark magic completely blinked out of existence as Robin continued draining it.

Then the creature began crying pathetically as blood began dripping from its open mouth.

 _He's draining it too fast,_ Walter thought in panic. _He's going to kill it!_ "Tharja, cancel your spell!" Walter shouted. But it wasn't necessary; like Walter, she had been shocked so badly that her own spell had guttered out. Thankfully, the healers were still channeling healing magic, but...it wasn't enough. Before Walter's eyes, sores began opening up on the pegasus' body as the magic keeping it alive was ripped away from it. "Robin, slow down!" Walter called out. A quick glance at the man showed that he wore an unsettlingly wide, rapturous grin.

"Robin!" Lissa shouted from her own position on the other side of the line. "You're hurting it, stop!" The man did not listen, however, his only response being an absent chuckle. "Phila, we need your help!" Phila gave a verbal acknowledgement before dashing forward and adding her own healing spell to the mix. It barely slowed Robin down.

 _He's gone mad,_ Walter realized in horror as the man began chuckling more and more, eventually turning into outright manic laughter. He quickly tried to tackle the man, hoping to break the spell, but dark magic flared around him, knocking Walter back several feet onto his backside. He was unwilling to risk more dangerous methods of intervention, but Robin was going to kill the beast before it was all said and done. Unless…

He gathered his magic and began mentally incanting the most powerful spell of Bersian holy magic that he knew: The Lord's Blessing. He finished the incantation and thrust his mace into the air, causing several strands of pure holy magic to erupt from the tip, twirling and dancing around each other as they rose. As they reached the zenith of their climb they flew together, and the room was drowned in a brilliant white light, blinding all but Robin, who was too preoccupied with draining the ever-weakening pegasus to care about such mundane matters as his sense of sight. The light dimmed, albeit barely, to reveal the spectral image of a large bird of prey. Everyone stared at it, awed, as it let out an almost musical cry and began beating its ethereal wings. Before their eyes, the wounds on the dark pegasus began sealing themselves. New ones would burst to life as Robin continued draining the magic, but they were almost immediately healed.

"Keep your spells going!" Walter barked at the healers while bending over double in exhaustion. The Lord's Blessing was not meant to be cast by a single mage, but Walter had seen no other option. The others' spells had guttered out while they stared at Walter's handiwork. They all jumped perceptibly at the gruff order, before turning back to the pegasus and casting their magic again. Walter began channeling his own healing spell into the mix, though it was significantly weaker than it would have been, given the amount of magic it took to fuel the Lord's Blessing. Several minutes passed like this; the healers desperately trying to keep the pegasus alive as the ever-laughing Robin continued to tear the dark magic forcibly from its body. Walter began to worry as the Lord's Blessing began flickering; it would give out soon, and even with all of the healing spells combined the healers wouldn't be able to keep up with Robin's spell. Even as he started to give voice to this worry, Robin's spell began weakening as well; the pegasus was running out of dark magic to steal.

Even as Walter began physically hurting from the strain of maintaining his spell, Robin's own spell finally sputtered out of existence, the last few wisps of dark magic flying greedily into his body; the pegasus was fully drained of dark magic. Without warning, Robin collapsed to the ground, still giggling madly, though faintly, with stray wisps of dark magic steadily rising from him.

Walter moved to check on him, but his legs finally gave out; he collapsed to the stone floor of the stables as the others also began rushing towards Robin. He spared one last glance at the pegasus as his vision faded to black; beyond the wood of the stable and the web of chains, he thought he caught a glimpse of silver.

 **AN:**

 **I had to stop this pegasus subplot from dragging out anymore, and why not do so by abusing Robin's character? A bit hammy, but it was better than pulling another six chapters out of my ass to do the same thing.**


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

 **The Blessed Pegasus**

Walter groaned audibly as his consciousness returned to him, and tried to clutch his now pounding head, only for a hand to shoot out and grab it.

"He's waking up!" a voice called in relief. Phila's voice, he realized. He slowly pried open his eyes to see the veteran Pegasus Knight sitting by his bedside. He noticed several other figures in the background, but his vision was still too blurred.

"What happened?" Walter asked dumbly as his brain started grinding back into motion. His eyes widened as he remembered what had happened himself before Phila could respond. "Is Robin alright? Is the pegasus still alive?"

"Yes on both counts, General," Phila reassured him with a gentle smile, and Walter exhaled in relief. "Robin woke up yesterday and was cleared to leave, and the pegasus yet lives…" she trailed off.

"What's wrong?" Walter asked, his brows furrowing. "Is it healthy?"

"By all indications, yes," Phila responded hesitantly, "but…well, I suppose I'll have to show you later. But that's not that important right now. I'm just glad you're safe. You've been unconscious for three days."

"I must have pushed myself too far," Walter sighed. "Mana exhaustion is never enjoyable. I should be fine now," he said, sitting upright. He was still a bit stiff and tired, but he was not in pain.

"What was that spell you cast?" one of the other occupants of the room asked. He turned to see his questioner was Libra. "The one that resembled a large bird? I've never seen something so powerful."

"The Lord's Blessing," Walter responded. "It purges all curses and heals all wounds that aren't fatal. It…is also meant to be cast by at least four mages at once," he admitted sheepishly, earning him disapproving stares from both Phila and Libra. "I had no choice. Robin would have killed the beast otherwise."

"While I would advise against regularly attempting group-cast spells in the future," Libra said sternly, before smiling, "one cannot deny the efficacy of the spell. That spell alone is undoubtedly what saved that creature. I also suspect it's what saved Robin."

Walter paled. "What was wrong with him? He seemed mad with power, but was he injured?"

"Not any worse than you would be after those sessions," Libra responded, "but considering the sheer amount of dark magic he absorbed…well _something_ had to keep him from dying. He awoke yesterday and seemed perfectly fine, if a bit…disturbed at his behavior, and still carrying some minor wounds. He is cleared for duty, however, and volunteered to pick up your slack while you recovered."

"I've also got news for you," another voice said. Walter turned to see Chrom leaning by the window, smiling widely. "Duke Vyland had no heirs or relatives to bequeath his estate to when he died. Given his treason, that forfeits his estate, the entire Duchy of Nordenheim, over to the Exalted Line. I was thinking yesterday about what to do with it…and I came up with a brilliant idea."

"Oh Lord," Walter sighed, seeing the wide grin on Chrom's face grow even wider.

"I decided to give the Duchy of Nordenheim to you," Chrom stated. "We'll be holding an official ceremony this weekend, the day before my wedding. Congratulations, Duke Lennart."

000

"'Duke Lennart'…it has sort of a nice ring to it," Phila stated with a smile as the pair climbed up the stairwell to the pegasus roost later that evening. He had been banned from working until tomorrow, and had spent most of his day reading in the hospital wing.

"And here I was, hoping my days of having to deal with the nobility outside of official functions were at an end once I'd left Bersia," Walter sighed. Phila merely laughed at him. "I suppose I should have seen this coming. I believe the Prince and Robin find some sort of sick pleasure in torturing me."

"That is what friends are best known for," Phila responded lightly. "On the bright side, at least you won't have to deal with the public scrutiny following the ceremony for too long. The Prince's wedding will overshadow the entire affair."

"One must thank the Lord for small mercies," Walter agreed, and the two laughed. "Now, what is it about this pegasus that concerns you? It is alive and healthy, is it not?" he asked as they neared the door to the pegasus roost.

Phila's face turned somewhat nervous. "She is alive, and there is no trace of dark magic any longer, but…well, I suppose you'll just have to see it for yourself." With that, she opened the door, and the two strode into the stables.

Walter's face screwed up in confusion as he laid eyes on the pegasus. In Walter's experience, a healthy, normal pegasus had a brilliant, shining white coat and sapphire eyes, but this one had a lustrous _silver_ coat, and the eyes to match. Curiously, a large horn now sprouted from its forehead, and its gazed snapped to the pair the instant they entered. It had been unbound from its chains, likely meaning it was no longer actively hostile, but its gaze did not look friendly.

"What in the Lord's name is this?" Walter wondered aloud.

"I do not know," Phila replied with a shrug. "Libra and I believe it has _something_ to do with that spell you cast, but…well, it is beyond our understanding. Tharja is adamant that whatever is at work here, it is not dark magic. Our own examinations prove that it is only mildly wounded, but the new coloration appears to be permanent."

Walter stared at the creature, and it stared right back. It didn't stare with hostility, but more…defiance, he would say. It appeared to care little for him. "How is its temperament?" he asked.

"She is far less aggressive than she was before," Phila answered, "though she violently lashed out at Tharja when she drew near, and most men have learned to keep their distance as well. She tolerates women, but only just. Other than her outright hostility toward Tharja, that's not particularly unusual, however. She lashed out at Tharja with…well, it wasn't exactly light magic. We don't know what it was." Walter nodded in understanding, before striding forward. Phila grabbed his shoulder. "Did you not just hear what I said?" She asked, almost jokingly. "She doesn't like men. I do not wish to see you harmed."

"I do not believe she will," Walter assured her. Phila raised an eyebrow, but released his shoulder nonetheless, and began walking forward again.

Predictably, the pegasus reared and snorted as Walter got too close for her comfort (which was still halfway across the stables from her), and an aura of magic flared around her…very familiar magic to Walter. He trusted his intuition and conjured an orb of holy magic. Instantly, the pegasus calmed down and stared, almost transfixed, at the orb of light. A second later, its own magic flickered out.

"It's as you and Libra thought," Walter announced as he was able to close the remaining distance. He dispelled the orb and reached out to her. The pegasus glared at him shrewdly at first, before craning its neck forward and sniffing his hand cautiously. It snorted and drew its head back, but nor did it lash out at him or back away. "I do believe this creature was not only healed by my spell, but absorbed it entirely. What you are seeing, Phila, is a…new breed of pegasus. This is a creature of Bersian holy magic now."

Phila's jaw dropped in amazement as she drew up next to him. The pegasus snorted again, before backing away to the opposite end of the stable. "I didn't believe your holy magic and our light magic to be so different, or really even different at all…yet the proof stands before us. What should we do with her?"

Walter's mind stopped for a second. "I do not know," he answered unsurely after a moment. "I had thought…well out of the two of us, you know more of pegasi than I do," he stated. "What would you do with her?"

"My first thought is to release her," Phila responded, "but I know not how much this holy magic will affect her, or what those effects will even be. She is also singularly unique. She could very well die or be captured and sold off if released…let us keep her here for a while." Phila reached out her hand into the stable, beckoning the creature closer, but she just shook her head and glared disdainfully at Phila. "It would be easier to examine you if you didn't insist on standing on the other side of the stable," Phila said jokingly. The pegasus snorted in response, and Phila sighed. "Well, this is a first for me," she said wryly. "While not all pegasi are friendly to humans, I can normally at least get them to come near. Twenty years of dealing with these magnificent creatures, and she is the first to outright deny me."

Walter frowned in concern at the sad expression on Phila's face. She clearly loved pegasi, and it had to be heartbreaking to have one so readily dismiss her. If only there was some way to coax it closer…Walter had an idea. "It allowed me near when I conjured that orb of holy magic…perhaps it will do the same for you."

Phila's face brightened hopefully. "Well, we can certainly try," Phila replied. "Show me how."

Walter gave her brief instruction on casting holy magic. Phila was unused to even attempting magic without a staff, but gave her best attempt. All she managed at first was a small spark, but Walter noticed the pegasus' ears turn up curiously at its appearance. After several more minutes, and no small amount of effort on Phila's part, she finally managed to conjure an orb. It was smaller than Walter's, of course, and was clearly a struggle for her to maintain, but she conjured one nonetheless.

As Walter suspected, the pegasus slowly walked forward, transfixed at the orb in Phila's hand. Soon, it was close enough for Phila to reach toward, and she did. She briefly petted the creature's nose, before her loss of concentration caused the orb to gutter out. The pegasus blinked once, before shaking Phila's hand free of her head. She did not back away again, however, and her gaze was no longer quite so disdainful.

"I believe you've made a friend, Phila," Walter said lightly, laughing at the wide smile on Phila's face.

"Yes, so do I," Phila responded absently as she gazed at the pegasus.

"I believe it is best to leave her in your care now," Walter told her. Phila tore her gaze away from the pegasus and shot him a curious glance. "I know little of these beasts outside of their military applications. My knowledge consists of everything you, Sumia, and Cordelia have told me yourselves. There is no better caretaker than you. I will gladly assist, should you require advice on holy magic, but overall her care is best left to you."

"Thank you, Walter," Phila said, smiling softly. "I do believe you could use a name, couldn't you, your gorgeous girl?" The pegasus actually rolled its eyes at that.

"How about I call you Erinys?" Phila suggested.

000

"I, Walter, by the grace of God, from this hour henceforth swear fealty to House Ylisse. I shall not bring about by deed, word, consent, or counsel, that any member of House Ylisse will lose life or have its members taken captive. I will prevent harm to them, and cause any harm to be removed from them if I am able. Any counsel that they entrust to me through themselves, or envoys, or letters, I will keep secret. I will aid them, to the best of my ability, in holding and defending against all foes the security and prosperity of the House and Halidom of Ylisse. May the Lord aid me in this endeavor," Walter finished, kneeling in front of Prince Chrom in the Throne Room of Castle Ylisstol.

"Then rise, Sir Walter of House Lennart, as Duke of Nordenheim!" Chrom replied, removing Falchion from Walter's shoulder.

"Long live Duke Lennart!" the crowd behind them shouted as Walter returned to his feet. "Long live House Ylisse!" The cheering then broke down into less coherent shouting of congratulations, and the pair was quickly swamped with well-wishers.

Walter found himself shaking hands, nodding and replying politely, and generally going through all the motions. This wasn't his first anointment as a noble, of course, and he had long since lost the romantic view of nobility he'd had as a young man. It all just seemed a chore, now. After what seemed like hours, the well-wishers finally trickled away, off to attend the party being thrown in his honor. By Walter's insistence, it was to be a modest affair, but he was still hoping that it would be over as soon as possible. He hated parties.

One of the last well-wishers was Duke Talys. Walter fought to keep his expression neutral; he was certainly not fond of the man, not after finding out what he'd done to Phila.

"Congratulations, Duke," Talys said with a polite smile. "Or do you prefer General? You don't look the sort to be too concerned with being addressed by his 'proper' station."

"General is sufficient," Walter replied as politely as he could. "I am first and foremost a soldier above all else."

"A good mindset to have," Talys complimented. "Too many nobles are so concerned with their nobility they forget the last part of the oath."

"Too true," Walter found himself agreeing. He then frowned as he noticed Talys giving him that same scrutinizing look he had the day Phila told him of the "incident". "Is there something the matter, Duke Talys?" Walter asked.

"Hmm? No, not at all," Talys said lightly. "Just trying to fully figure out what my daughter's gotten herself into this time."

Walter frowned severely at him. "I'm not entirely sure I like what you're implying, Duke Talys," Walter said bluntly. "Speak plainly."

"As much as the previous Duke of Nordenheim liked to insist otherwise, I know you're no idiot," Talys responded just as bluntly. "You can figure it out, I'm sure. We'll visit this topic again in…" he looked Walter up and down briefly, "oh, about half a year, give or take a month." He then turned around and strode off at an impressive pace for a man reliant on a cane, giving Walter no chance to respond.

"That sounded…ominous," Chrom said lowly from beside him as the last well-wishers began crowding forward.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Walter said succinctly as he thanked Duchess Grant, who shot the Prince a death glare before leaving.

Phila was the last one to come forward, smiling widely. "Congratulations, General," she said, beaming with pride. "Now nobody can say you're not a proper Grand General."

"Anyone who said that wasn't worth my time anyway," Walter responded lightly, causing Phila to laugh. "Come along Captain, let us endure this 'party' that our illustrious Prince insisted that we throw."

"Come now, Walter, it'll be fun," Chrom stated with a wide grin. "It's not like everyone will be getting inebriated. That will be tomorrow, at my reception." Chrom paled then. "Oh gods, I'm getting married tomorrow… Walter, I'm getting married tomorrow!" he said, panicking.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine," Walter said flippantly as he began walking away, the two of them following immediately. "As long as there are no bears in the fountain."

"You never did explain what happened with that," Phila chided gently.

"And I never will," Walter said adamantly. The other two laughed at him regardless as they exited the throne room and joined the party.

 **AN:**

 **There was a bear in the fountain outside at one of my friend's weddings, and he…well, that's a story for another time, when I feel like embarrassing Walter with another stylized anecdote of my life. It was fucking hilarious though.**

 **Pegasus is cured, named after Jugdrali character because best Fire Emblem, and Walter gets sworn in as a Duke, because it's kinda weird that the Grand General is technically a peasant.**

 **Still hamfisting my "pegasi are magic af" theory, and this is yet another manifestation of it. O. Holy magic from KUF works a bit different from Ylissean light magic, as I think I explained before, so it manifests differently.**

 **Also, side note: I think there was a concept change or yet another translation error when they shipped KUF to America because there's a holy spell called "Holy Explosion" that's just a buff. Like it literally just boosts HP and grants HP regeneration for Paladin units, that's it. It doesn't do any damage to anything, doesn't have any effects outside of the unit that casts it. It makes them borderline indefuckingstructible, but is in no way an explosion of any variety, let alone holy. It's more along the lines of a Dark Elf unit's Elemental Boost. I might be changing that in the future, either by changing the name of the spell (like I did for the "Bless and Heal" spell that I used in the last chapter, because that name seemed a little basic and dumb for a spell that would have religious connotations in Walter's faith) or by changing the effect of it so it's like another offensive spell. Light magic has offensive spells in many Fire Emblem games, and though I've never played Shadow Dragon, the world of Ylisse is confirmed to have offensive light magic spells like Seraphim in Gaiden/SoV, so it's not like it would be nonsensical.**


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

 **Love and Marriage**

It was strange for Walter, being at a wedding like this. He'd attended plenty of them before, of course, it was expected of the Ecclesian Court to attend each other's weddings, but this was his first time actually _wanting_ to be there, to celebrate the coming union of his friends and comrades.

They'd been waiting a while now for the bride to enter. All of the Shepherds were present, taking the front rows, all dressed in their nicest clothing. Vaike had even worn a nice shirt for once. At the altar stood Libra, officiating over the ceremony in the absence of a Hierarch. Chrom had originally asked Walter, but Walter had explained that the rites of marriage in his faith were reserved only for members of the Faith. Chrom had understood, and then asked Libra. Chrom was up there, of course, wearing an ornate silver tunic with gold trim and looking like he was about to have an anxiety-induced stroke. Robin had been selected as his best man, and wore a fine black tunic underneath his ubiquitous coat; no amount of argumentation from Sumia could force him to doff it. Walter thought Sumia only tried to get him to leave it behind for her own amusement, truth be told. Frederick was present as well as Chrom's bodyguard, his armor and lance so well polished that they practically shone of their own accord. Cordelia, having taken temporary leave from her squadron (who was still up in the Eastern Mountains) was also up on the altar, as Sumia's maid of honor, wearing a lovely white gown that went well with her pale skin and crimson hair.

The chatter in the Temple immediately died down as the main doors creaked open, and every head in the hall turned. Sumia strode in, her father holding her arm and beaming proudly. Walter was impressed by Sumia's beauty; her wedding dress was the same as any frilly, voluminous thing one could expect a bride to wear, but he did admit it was a beautiful dress. Her face had been expertly made up, accentuating her already pleasant features, though the bridal veil made it somewhat hard to tell. Walter was surprised she was wearing one, as cruel as the thought was; given the symbolism of the veil and her now rather prominent belly, it seemed a little odd. He would not judge them, however, as he knew they did love each other. They'd just gotten ahead of themselves, was all.

The pair strode slowly up the aisle. Partly for ceremony's sake, and Walter suspected partly because of Sumia's propensity for tripping over nothing. To the relief of all present, she made it up to the altar without tripping and took her place opposite Chrom, who was gazing at her in abject awe and admiration. Her father came to a rest beside her, opposite Robin, who was doing very well at restraining his laughter at Chrom's expression.

"Dearly beloved," Libra announced, "we are gathered here today, beneath the benevolent gaze of the Divine Dragon Naga, to join together this couple in holy matrimony. If anyone should have cause for these two not to be wedded, speak now, or forever hold your peace." Libra said the last sentence in such a way, and with such emphasis, that it was clear that any such attempt to speak out would be met with the axe that ever hung at his belt. Several of the other Shepherds glared around them, passing along a similar message. No one objected, and Libra smiled in satisfaction.

"Do you, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, take, Sumia of House Cain, for your lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?" Libra asked formally.

"I will," Chrom stated boldly as he placed his signet ring on her finger, staring at his soon-to-be wife with a mixture of awe and love.

"Do you, Sumia of House Cain, take him, Chrom of House Ylisse, for your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?"

"I will," Sumia responded in kind as she shakily put her own wedding band on his hand. At least that's what Walter assumed she said; her voice was so thick with emotion, the woman practically on the verge of tears, that he could hardly understand her."

"Then I pronounce you man and wife," Libra concluded, smiling gently at the couple. "You may-" Chrom immediately threw himself at Sumia, not even waiting for Libra to finish, and Walter noted with some amusement that the kiss they were currently wrapped in would be considered wildly inappropriate in any other social context.

Then the cheers began. And the crying, of course, it seemed every woman in the audience was shedding tears of absolute joy. _Women are such strange creatures,_ Walter mused. Even Phila, the hardened warrior she was, was tearing up a bit.

"Long live the King!" Robin shouted from next to the still-kissing couple. "Long live the Queen!"

"Long live the King!" the rest of the Temple of Naga's occupants echoed in response. "Long live the Queen!" The couple finally exited their embrace, each of them grinning madly, and exited the Temple of Naga, the rest of the attendees following quickly.

000

The wedding reception was open to any who wished to attend. That is to say, practically the entire capital was transformed into a party facility. The thousands of residents of Ylisstol were currently enjoying themselves highly…all but one disgruntled Grand General, who was sitting at a table in a corner of the Great Hall, glowering darkly at the partiers in front of him.

"Walter, this is a party," Robin said as he sat down next to the brooding paladin, passing one of the two drinks he was carrying toward Walter, who accepted it with a grunt of thanks. "That means you're supposed to mingle and enjoy yourself."

Walter snorted in disdain, before downing the entire mug in one go. It was his fifth or sixth one so far, and he was starting to feel that pleasant, giddy sensation...or would if he wasn't so irritated. "It would be easier to enjoy myself if I was not swamped with sycophants trying to 'befriend' me to get in the King's pocket," Walter grumbled.

"So go find one of the Shepherds, have a drink, and ignore them," Robin replied lightly. "Or, do what Khan Flavia did and start demanding that anyone who would speak to you wins a sparring match first. After Duke Holzheim got thrown through the ice sculpture of Naga, nobody's tried to speak to her," he laughed.

Walter snorted in amusement. He'd seen that and gotten a laugh out of it; Duke Holzheim had stood up, laughing genially, clapped Flavia on the shoulder, and went back to the party. "Somehow, I do not think the King would approve of me destroying the Palace…again."

"Yeah, he's still a bit tender about all those holes in the West Wing," Robin laughed, referring to Walter's Vine spell destroying four entire floors worth of stonework. "But just don't use any world-ending doom spells, and you'll be fine."

Walter finally relinquished an actual laugh. "As tempting as it would be to fetch my mace and bludgeon some of these worthless bureaucrats into a coma, I'm afraid I will have to decline."

Robin blew a raspberry. "Gods, you're no fun at all," he groaned. Walter laughed a bit at that. "How about…dancing? Go find a pretty young lass and ask her to a dance."

Walter gave a single loud, barking laugh at that. "Robin, I have two left feet, and I've no interest in listening to some young woman prattle on about whatever subjects interest her. I'm too old for that nonsense."

"You're only, what, forty winters?" Robin replied. Walter raised two fingers. "Forty two winters. That's hardly old."

"Then why do I feel sixty two?" Walter asked dryly.

"Because you're a stick in the mud who works all day, aging himself before his time," Robin shot back cheekily.

"The good General, being a stick in the mud? I can hardly believe it!" someone said mirthfully behind him. He turned to see Phila standing there, a mug of ale in her hand. _Phila drinks?_ Walter wondered. _That's news._ He also noted that she was no longer wearing her formal uniform, but a deep azure dress that hugged her figure in all the correct places, and Walter found his control over where his eyes were pointed suddenly waning.

"Watch your tone, _Captain,_ " Walter replied as he reined his eyes back in, his voice joking, "Or I'll have you thrown in the stockade!"

"And do all the paperwork yourself?" Phila shot back as she sat next to Walter, and Walter's face paled. "You need me. You can't afford to throw me in the stockade."

"She's got a point, you know," Robin added. "When I tried to do your job earlier this week, I found myself wondering if throwing myself from the Northeast Tower wouldn't be preferable. Then I remembered that pegasus tries to kill me if I get within its line of sight, and that it would probably make me suffer a lot more first, and realized I was resigned to my fate."

Walter laughed at that. "You get used to it, after a while," Walter said. "But fine. Go fetch that board game of yours, and we'll have a go at it. That will give us something to do."

"That's the spirit!" Robin cheered as he stood up. "Who knows, maybe you'll find yourself wanting to dance later!" Walter shook his head in disbelief as Robin then took off, sliding smoothly through the crowd.

"Dancing?" Phila asked in amusement.

"The damnable fool was trying to get me to 'find a pretty young lass and ask her for a dance'," Walter replied, causing Phila to laugh at him. Walter frowned. "What, you don't think I could? I will have you know that back in Ecclesia, before I was married, women were begging for my hand!"

"Oh, I'm sure there's at least one woman here who would love to dance with you, General," Phila replied with a strange edge to her tone, "but just the thought of it makes me laugh. You're such a stick in the mud, after all," she teased.

"A stick in the mud with two left feet and not enough ale in his system for this nonsense," Walter grumbled in response as Robin returned with his strategy board, eliciting a chuckle from Phila. The two then launched into a couple of games, with Phila presiding, and they found themselves evenly matched.

"I propose we shake things up a little," Robin said as they finished their fourth game, this one going to Walter.

"I don't like that look in your eye, tactician," Walter responded worriedly as Robin gave a face splitting grin.

"I propose that for each piece we lose in this next game, we take a drink," Robin explained, and Walter frowned. "And if you lose, you have to drink an entire mug."

"And what makes you believe I will accept such a ridiculous challenge?" Walter responded.

"The fact that now we're drawing an audience," Robin said, inclining his head to the left. He saw several nobles, Khan Basilio, and some of the Shepherds standing nearby, gazing at the table with interest. "Do you really want to look craven in front of so many people?" he asked condescendingly.

Walter scowled at the now madly grinning tactician. _He had to force my hand._ "Fine. I accept," he said gruffly, to the cheers of their spectators.

000

"He tricked me," Walter slurred as he stumbled outside. "The damnable, sly tactician tricked me." After the challenge had been issued, Robin seemed to pull some near-divine level of tactical insight out of his nether regions, and had promptly wiped the board with him six times in a row, irrelevant of whether they used Bersian rules or Ylissean rules. Walter had conceded after the sixth, being barely sober enough to think straight. Robin had only finished a mug and a half.

"In hindsight, you should have known better," Phila responded as she followed him outside, doing her best not to laugh. "Are you having fun now, at least?"

Walter shrugged. "Perhaps if I hadn't been so soundly thrashed," he muttered darkly, causing Phila to finally laugh at him. "I am glad my plight amuses you, Captain."

"Oh, don't pout, General," Phila chided, and Walter harrumphed, eliciting more laughter. "It's unbecoming. Come now; let's find something else to occupy the time."

"Like what? Dancing?" Walter suggested sarcastically.

Phila shrugged nonchalantly in response. "That'll do, I suppose," Phila said cheerily, before seizing his hand and dragging him back toward the door.

"W-what are you-" Walter stuttered as she pulled him. "I can't dance, Captain!"

"Oh, hush," Phila said. "You can't tell me you've never danced before."

"W-well, yes, I have, but only once!" Walter protested. "At my wedding, actually, and I ended up breaking my newlywed's toe! I have two left feet, Phila!"

"Well, I have two right feet," Phila replied cheekily as she dragged him onto the dance floor as the last song was ending, "so we'll see if we can't balance this out."

Before Walter could object any further, she grabbed hold of both of his hands and guided them to the proper position. Walter found himself turning a rather unhealthy shade of red when he realized his hand was on Phila's waist. _Why is such a hard woman so soft?_ He absently wondered.

Phila simply laughed at him. "Come now, Walter, you act like a young boy who's never touched a woman," she teased.

"Well, it's not often I get manhandled by a woman," Walter argued, his voice strained. "It's unbecoming."

"Well, then take the lead," Phila responded amusedly.

"You will regret this," Walter warned as the music began starting up. It was a waltz. Of course it was a waltz. At least it was a fast one. And of course Flavia was slinking away from where the band was playing, a mischievous look on her face. He would have words with her later.

"I doubt that," Phila responded softly as they began moving.

Walter immediately found himself trying not to step on Phila's feet, or bowl through any of the other dancers, and still maintain a semblance of dignity. All while not at all sober. He was failing miserably, of course; he managed not to injure the other dancers, or God forbid step on Phila's feet, but he probably looked like a fool.

"You're too nervous," Phila giggled softly as they just narrowly avoided running over Duke Holzheim and his wife. Holzheim shot him a withering glare as they passed by. "That's why you're having such trouble."

"I am trying not to injure you, Phila," Walter grumbled, causing her to laugh softly. "Don't laugh at me!" he grumbled further.

"It's funny," Phila countered teasingly, before her face grew slightly more serious. "You know, it's strange. When we were fighting that witch, Aversa, we managed to move in perfect synchronization. You had no trouble with your footwork then, and you didn't even have the chance to look at me to check where my own footing was. What has changed?"

 _I'm a mite distracted with how soft your waist feels or the uncomfortably close physical proximity we're in,_ Walter thought dryly. _Oh, and the fact that you look stunning this evening in that dress, and this whole situation is reminding me uncomfortably of the fact that I have feelings for you._ "A dance floor is not a battlefield," Walter said aloud as they quite narrowly avoided bumping into the newlyweds. Sumia laughed at them and Chrom shot him a knowing grin, earning him a glare full of daggers. "They are entirely different things."

"Are they really so different?" Phila asked. "In both locations partners must work in tandem, trusting each other to know where to be and how to move there. Do you not trust me, Walter?" she inquired, her eyes almost…hurt.

Walter's stern frown softened. "I do, Phila," he replied. "But-"

"No buts," Phila interrupted, placing a hand over his mouth briefly. "Just trust me."

Walter hesitated for a second, and then nodded. _Pretend it's a battlefield,_ Walter told himself dubiously. _Should be easy enough_. As he continued leading the duo across the dance floor, he stopped envisioning the passing couples as a social incident waiting to happen, and as combatants entangled in their own duels, which he needed to avoid to reach his target. To his great surprise, it seemed to be working; the narrow misses became fewer and farther between. He counter-intuitively stopped worrying about Phila's foot placement at all, trusting her to move with him. As always, his trust was well placed; she moved seamlessly with him. Counter to his own doubts, Walter actually found himself beginning to _enjoy_ this, the pace of the dance even sobering him up a little. He was also getting rather tired from the pace of the dance, but that was neither here nor there.

Phila laughed softly; Walter's thoughts were clearly present on his face. "Do you see now?" she said softly. "They're not so different, are they? And dare I presume you are enjoying yourself now?"

"You may dare," Walter granted, and Phila laughed again, causing Walter to smile. As if by divine providence (or perhaps more of Flavia's interference; he couldn't check the band to be sure), the waltz began slowing down. Which meant… _Oh Lord._ Sure enough, Phila moved closer, much closer. Then their bodies were actually touching, and it took most of Walter's composure to not panic and flee the scene like the craven he was. _I feel like a young man again, and not in a good way,_ he thought in embarrassment. _Come now, paladin, you've sired a son, faced an immortal monster in battle without fear, and fought two armies simultaneously, and you turn craven_ now _?_ The mental scolding did not work. Walter still wanted to flee.

"And you're nervous again," Phila sighed in resignation as Walter tensed up. "Relax, Walter, it's just two friends sharing a dance together."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Walter admitted uneasily as he stumbled a bit in his state of non-sobriety and nervousness. "Though as far as friends go, I'm glad to be sharing a dance with this one in particular. Something tells me Justino would not have been so forgiving or encouraging. And if Kendal and I were to dance this closely, he might kill me on the spot."

Phila snorted a laugh at that, and Walter chuckled as well. "So all of your friends from Bersia are sticks in the mud as well?" Phila asked, looking up at Walter. She was only a few inches shorter than him, but in such close proximity, she had to crane her neck nearly straight upward

"Yes," Walter answered, causing Phila to laugh. "We were all considered too severe for our own good. My late wife used to reprimand us all regularly for it, in fact."

"You do not speak much of your wife," Phila pointed out, sounding curious. "What was she like?"

"Beautiful beyond compare," Walter answered immediately. "Relaxed, but not complacent in her duties. Ruth was always finding silver linings in the stormiest of clouds, a virtual well of positivity. Practically the opposite of me," he said with a wry chuckle. "She was the best mother our son could have asked for, really. It breaks my heart even to this day that she left for the Lord's Kingdom so early."

"She sounds incredible," Phila answered, almost…dejectedly, as she averted her gaze. _Why does she sound so disappointed?_ "It's not hard to see why you have remained faithful, even so many years after her death."

Walter hummed at that. "She would be quite cross with me, actually," he said with a dry laugh, and Phila looked up at him curiously. "On her deathbed, she implored me to take care of Thomas and to find happiness for myself. I failed on both counts. The second I enter the Lord's Kingdom, she will likely give me a sound thrashing."

Phila hit him gently on the shoulder. "Enough of that talk," Phila said shortly. "You are a wonderful man, Walter. I'm sure when you meet your wife again, she'll want naught but to embrace you."

"Perhaps," Walter said dubiously. "I suppose we shall see when the time comes. But enough of such dour matters. Until then, I will just have to enjoy life for now, with my present company."

"That is a nice attitude to have, Walter," Phila said with a smile, before leaning into his chest. "You're soft under that gruff exterior after all."

"Don't let it be known," Walter warned as he prayed Phila couldn't feel his suddenly rapid heartbeat. "It could seriously undermine my authority."

Phila just laughed softly."You need not worry, Walter," Phila said quietly, so much so she could hardly be heard over the music. "Your secret is safe with me." The two then fell into silence, simply enjoying the music, and each other's company.

Eventually, the song ended. As Phila pulled away, Walter couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved.

"Thank you for the dance, General," Phila said as she pulled away, curtseying politely. The action looked almost foreign on her. "It was lovely, once you worked past your nervousness."

Walter bowed in return. "I would not have, if not for you," Walter said, smiling. "Truly, I am blessed to have such a friend. For now, though, I believe I'll be going for a spot of fresh air; all of this dancing and talking has made these old bones tired. The public address balcony should be lovely at this time of night, I think."

"Do you care if I join you?" Phila asked quickly. Her tone sounded almost…nervous?

"Not at all, Phila," Walter responded. "Lead the way."

As they left the Great Hall and walked up the stairs to the second floor, Walter immediately decided that letting her lead was a poor decision; he was eye level with a certain portion of the female anatomy that men had a tendency to gaze at, and he nearly tripped over himself trying to look everywhere but there. His torment was ended when they crested the stairs. They nearly ran headlong into Ebbard, the Hironeiden liaison that had been sent to them after the formalization of the Outrealm Treaty, who was just retiring to his room for the evening, but otherwise made it to the balcony without incident.

Walter had been quite right; the view from the balcony was outstanding. Under the full moon, he could see all of Ylisstol in all of its beauty. Homes were lit throughout the city; practically everyone was partying, it seemed. Beyond the walls, he could see Lake Caeda, sparkling almost mystically underneath the moon's light. Below them, the party continued; Walter chuckled when he saw Robin drinking with Virion, Vaike, and Lon'qu, apparently in a drinking contest of some sort.

"You were correct," Phila said beside him as she gazed out on the city. "It is quite beautiful in the evening. I fear I've not had much cause to come here in the past, but perhaps I shall resolve to do so more often."

"It is indeed beautiful, but not as much as you," Walter said before he fully thought it through. He paled when he realized what he'd just done, after seeing Phila blush furiously. "Forgive me, that was improper. Think nothing of it."

"Actually…" Phila trailed off, turning to face him fully, "that is actually the reason I asked to come out here…to speak with you about…well, you know," she finished lamely.

Walter turned to face her as well, frowning in concern. "If I have had other, similar slip-ups in the past, I meant no offense. Please, think no more on it." _Have I had made any more mistakes like that?_ Walter wondered. His attempt to search his memory was quickly dashed by the alcohol, however. _Damned ale._

"That's not what I meant," Phila said. "In truth, I grow…tired of this," she explained. "I am tired of the both of us dancing around the issue. This state of indecisiveness ill befits the both of us, and I for one feel-"

Walter wondered why she'd stopped speaking for a second, until his brain caught up to his body. His body was currently embracing Phila, and he felt something soft against his lips. It took his inebriated brain a few more seconds to realize exactly what he was doing. He was kissing Phila.

 _He was kissing Phila._

Walter immediately let go of her, tearing himself away, and staggered backwards a few steps.

"W-well then," Phila said, blushing so furiously that Walter thought her head might burst, "that was certainly…decisive."

"Oh, God," Walter muttered in horror. "Phila, I'm terribly sorry."

Phila smiled comfortingly at Walter. Walter mentally cringed at the warmth in her eyes. "Walter, I don't-"

"I know," Walter interrupted. Of course she didn't care for him, not like that. He was stupid, an idiot. Some of the blame went to the drink, of course, he would never think of being half as forward otherwise, but the actions were his alone. "Again, I'm sorry. I should not have done that. It was wrong of me."

Phila frowned then. "Walter, if you would just let me-"

"I'm a damnable fool," Walter interrupted again. "We have responsibilities, obligations. Both as officers and as healers. I disgraced us both by…by kissing you. And you've been grieving as well, of all of the tactless… I should never have done it. I will take my leave now. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." Even as Phila's frown grew and she opened her mouth to speak again, he turned and dashed from the room, slamming the door in panic behind him.

 **AN:**

 **Lol Walter embarrassed himself, fucking dumbass. Yet another anecdote from my life. Well, I'm not the jackass who decided to start making out with his crush in front of God and everyone, but I witnessed it and laughed. Like he's trying to see what her stomach lining tastes like, then he fucking leaps away from her like she's on fire when he realized what he was doing, then he bolted. I almost died from oxygen deprivation from laughing so hard. And just like this story, she was sweet on him too, so she's just standing there like she'd seen Heaven. My sides were aching for days.**


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

 **Misunderstanding**

There was a furious knock at Walter's office door, and some angry shouting from beyond it, but Walter ignored it. Some testy courier, no doubt. He needed to get through this report…the same one he'd been reading the same three lines of for the past hour, which was precisely the reason he'd instructed the guards not to admit visitors and locked the doors. He was getting nowhere by himself. Rickard was still in Dornheim, assuming his mantle as Duke, and Phila…

 _Oh God,_ Walter thought miserably. _I've gone and ruined one of the few friendships I have._

The ale hadn't had the mercy of sparing him the memory of his mistake. He remembered everything from that night, in excruciating detail. Even briefly going over the last few minutes from the night of Chrom's wedding, three days ago, had him cringing in shame. He'd kissed Phila, potentially in front of dozens of people, had anybody the wherewithal to simply look up. He'd disgraced them both. When she hadn't shown up for work, he hadn't sent for her. He understood her need to be well away from him right now, and Lord knows he didn't deserve her company.

His self-deprecation was interrupted as the door to his office suddenly flew off the hinges with a tremendous crack of splitting wood, barreling towards his desk. On instinct, Walter dove out of his chair, narrowly avoiding the wooden boards as they smashed against the stone wall behind him. He cursed his lack of armor, but it could not be helped. He rolled out of his dive, drawing his mace, turning to the intruders and-

-became thoroughly confused when he saw it was the newly "crowned" (metaphorically speaking) King Chrom, looking outright furious. _He's likely heard about what happened,_ Walter realized despondently. _Here to dismiss me, no doubt._ He sheathed his mace and stood up properly. "Come to sack me, have you?" Walter asked resignedly as Robin and Frederick filed in behind him. "Was destroying the door necessary?" He asked when he got nothing from Chrom but a glare.

"He did warn you to open the door or he'd kick it down," Robin offered, sniggering. _So that was what the shouting was about._

"General, do you mind explaining what in the nine hells happened the other night?" Chrom asked icily.

"I disgraced both myself and Captain Phila," Walter admitted openly. "It was a mistake, and one I have no intention of repeating. There is nothing to be concerned about on that front. If that is not enough, however, and you wish to strip me of my station, I can do little but accept it. In truth, I think I deserve it."

To Walter's surprise, this only seemed to make Chrom angrier. "So, let me get this straight. You and Phila have been dancing around each other for months now, you kiss her completely out of the blue, and you expect me _not to be concerned!_?" Chrom shouted. "No. This will not stand. Phila's almost as much a mother to me as my true mother, and I'm not going to let you be an idiot about this and hurt her." He turned to Robin and Chrom. "Take him to Phila, so those two can sort this out. Do not let him go unless Phila wants him gone. If he resists, you have my permission to do anything shy of killing him. Remove limbs if you have to, Miriel was saying she was close to a breakthrough on reattaching them. If he's lucky, she'll finish her experiment before the limb rots away." With that, he turned and stormed from the office, muttering under his breath.

Walter looked at the other two. "I suppose there's no way out of this." It wasn't a question.

"Just so, General," Frederick said gravely. "Come along then. Best to just rip the bandage off, as it were."

Walter sighed. "Very well." As they filed out into the hallway, Walter was confused as to the direction they were heading.

"Why are we heading toward the officer's quarters?" Walter asked.

"Because the Captain has not left her room since the night of milord's wedding," Frederick answered pointedly. Walter groaned in misery.

"Yeah, when you just kiss a woman, then run off after telling her you're not interested, it tends to mess with their heads," Robin said dryly, earning him a glare from Walter. "Oh, don't look at me like that, this is your fault. Let's just hope she's not as angry as she was yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?" Walter asked, confused.

"She almost impaled a maid who'd startled her," Robin replied nonchalantly, and Walter felt his blood run cold. "But what are the odds of her staying _that_ angry, right?" Walter found himself slowly growing to dislike the tactician, as the man grinned cruelly at him.

Far too soon, they arrived in the female's wing of the officer's quarters. Walter had not been through here before, his own apartment up another couple of floors. Frederick knocked briskly on the door.

"What is it?" came Phila's voice. She sounded tired, depressed. The shame in Walter's gut churned.

"We have a visitor for you, Captain," Frederick answered. "Milord Chrom insists that you speak to…them." Frederick was clearly trying to maintain Walter's anonymity…he would see shortly if that was really wise.

"Oh, very well," Phila sighed. "Give me a few minutes to make myself presentable." The trio then waited out in the hallway for maybe ten minutes, before Phila finally told them to enter. Without ceremony, Frederick opened the door with one hand, grabbed Walter with the other, promptly threw him in like metaphorical steak into a lion's den, and slammed the door behind him. Walter turned and glared at the now-closed door incredulously as he stood straight, brushing his uniform flat again.

"Walter," came Phila's breathless voice. Walter froze, before turning slowly toward Phila, a look of dread on his face. Her quarters were tidy and sparsely decorated; she had a desk in one corner to his direct right, her bed in the opposite corner, a bookcase along that wall, a window opposite the door, and a couple of aesthetic scenery portraits adorning the walls. She was standing near the window wearing the blue military tunic she normally wore beneath her armor, her hair in its usual tight bun. Her face looked haggard, though; she had clearly been deprived of sleep, and Walter suspected she had been crying as well. Very recently, in fact. His heart broke and guilt crawled through his body as he realized that he was the cause of this.

"Phila," Walter answered stiffly, shamefully, as he walked close enough to where he didn't have to raise his voice, but far enough to maintain a respectful distance. He opted not to use her rank; this conversation was far too personal in nature to bother with formalities. "I must apologize for the misunderstanding the other night, for…what I've done. It was wrong of me, and I did not wish to distress you."

Phila stared at him, her face blank, before asking one question. "Do you regret it?"

Walter stared back, confused. "Uh…yes, that is normally the function of an apology, to express one's regret," Walter replied at length, nonplussed. "I disgraced both of us and spat on my responsibilities, both as your healer and commanding officer. Of course I regret it."

"That's not what I meant," Phila reiterated. "Forget rank and protocol, if but for a moment. Forget our oaths as healers, forget social expectations…do you regret what you did, as a man, to me, as a woman?"

Walter was silent as he contemplated what Phila asked, before sighing. "No," Walter stated definitively. Phila's jaw dropped a bit, her expression shocked, and Walter continued. "In truth, I do not. My shame comes from our obligations and oaths, but…not from my feelings for you. As cruel as it will be to tell you this, given our circumstances, I care very deeply for you, Phila. In fact, I will go so far as to say I love you, and though your feelings for me remain unclear, it does not-"

He was quite suddenly interrupted as he was forced into the bookcase next to him, a not insignificant amount of mass colliding into and spinning him. Walter barely had the time to register what was going on before something soft slammed into his lips. It was another set of lips, he realized numbly.

Phila was kissing _him_.

 _Kiss her back, you damned fool,_ a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Justino's urged him.

Walter listened, and returned the kiss.

They stayed like that for seconds that felt like years, before they finally broke away from each other, each breathing heavily.

"Have I made myself clear?" Phila said breathlessly, giving a shallow laugh, her face flushed.

"I suppose you have," Walter admitted, grinning despite himself. Quickly though, reality caught up to him, and the grin faded. "Which is unfortunate, since nothing can happen-"

Phila slapped him. It happened so quickly that Walter didn't even realize it did before his face started stinging. "Oh, no you don't," Phila growled dangerously as Walter absently touched his face in shock. "You're not doing this. You don't get to just tell me you love me, and then insist on nothing coming of it. I love you too, you damned, stubborn fool, and I'm not letting this slip from our grasps. You're coming with me." She then seized Walter by the arm before he could protest.

Robin and Frederick were waiting outside, exchanging idle chatter, when the door to Phila's quarters burst open again. First exited Phila, a determined yet happy expression on her face. Behind her, being dragged forcibly was Walter, who was blushing furiously and sputtering incoherently. As the pair took off down the hall, Frederick turned back to Robin and smiled disarmingly.

"That will be five gold," he said smugly. Robin answered with a groan of frustration.

"Damn it all!" He cursed as he emptied his already too-light coin purse into Frederick's outstretched hand. "I was _sure_ he would bungle it!"

"You really ought to refrain from gambling, Robin," Frederick stated cheerily. "You've lost three months pay to Lady Lissa, gambling on the courtships of the Shepherds. One would think you would have learned by now that it does not pay to bet against one's sovereign."

"Don't start with me, Mister 'I can't eat bear jerky'," Robin grumbled. Frederick simply laughed at him. "Don't worry, I'm going to be making it all back shortly. There is one last bet that I'm gambling on, and it's a surefire win for me."

"Oh really?" Frederick asked amusedly. "And which one is that?"

"Yours," Robin said, smiling evilly, and Frederick paled. "Lissa seems to think that you're going to propose to _Panne_ , of all people, and I told her she was out of her mind." Frederick started laughing then, and Robin joined in. "I know, it's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Oh, not at all," Frederick responded, still laughing. Robin shot him a curious look, which turned to horror as Frederick produced a ring from his pocket. "Perhaps if you hurry, you can change your bet before I go through with it." Robin took off down the corridor then, cursing in fury as he looked desperately for the Princess. He was going the wrong way, of course; the Princess was currently in the Throne Room with his other liege, and Robin was heading toward the Royal Apartments, six floors above the Throne Room. He took off for the Shepherds barracks at a casual pace, ordering a passing guard to go inform Lady Lissa of his impending engagement (assuming Panne accepted, which he dearly hoped she would).

While Frederick was basking in his cruel torture of the affable tactician, Phila burst into the Throne Room, dragging Walter behind her. Chrom was idly chatting with his new Queen, having no current audience, and the pair of them looked up with amusement at the development.

"Man, Robin owes me twenty more gold!" Lissa piped up from her seat at Chrom's left. Walter noticed with no small amount of anger that coin was changing hands between even the guards. _Has everyone made a sport of my love life?_ He thought indignantly.

"General, Captain," Chrom greeted amusedly, "I'm glad to see that you've both reconciled."

"Indeed we have, milord," Phila said, grinning widely, "but the General insists that nothing can come of it, due to our stations. Do we have your formal permission to ignore the regulations regarding fraternization?"

"Granted," Chrom answered without hesitation, smiling widely.. "I know you both well enough to know that you won't allow your relationship to interfere with your duties."

Phila smiled smugly, before turning to Walter, who was trying his best to remain stoic, even with the blush slowly creeping up his face. "Well, you heard the King," Phila told him. "He doesn't care. Clearly the soldiers don't care," she added, gesturing to the now sniggering guards, "and since I'm going to ask Libra to begin brewing the tonic for my back pain, you can't even hide behind your oaths as a healer. You have no choice but to confront the truth. Now, Walter, do you love me?"

Walter looked into her russet eyes with his own ice blue ones, before nodding. "Yes, I do, Phila. I love you very deeply."

"And I love you as well. That's settled then, _isn't it_?" The second half of that question brooked no argument.

"I suppose it is," Walter sighed, before grinning as he realized exactly what had just transpired. "I am a lucky man, to have found a woman with enough common sense and courage to make this possible. I have been a fool," Walter admitted.

"And I'm a lucky woman," Phila responded in kind, "for finding a man as honorable and dedicated to his obligations as you are, despite how _infuriating_ the damned fool's been." She then leaned up and kissed him, in front of God and everyone. Walter ignored the catcalling and jeering as he kissed her back. He felt no shame anymore. There wasn't any shame to be had in love, not when it didn't interfere with duty.

 _Though, what happens now?_ Walter wondered as time seemed to slow in their embrace. He loved her and she loved him, which was a simple enough concept. But what would he _do_ about it? He realized with equal parts trepidation and happiness that there was only one thing _to_ do about it.

Once they parted lips, Walter reached for his right hand, feeling the band that was there. It was his signet ring, one of the few things that had been brought along with him from Bersia that weren't of a military nature. He removed it swiftly, before dropping to his knee. Phila turned quite pale, and the catcalling turned into outright cheering.

"Phila of House Talys," Walter said without preamble, holding up the ring to her and reciting the words he'd guiltily considered saying for months now, "would you do me the inestimable honor of granting me your hand in marriage?"

Phila's jaw formed a perfect "o" for a painfully long moment, and Walter began to fear that he'd pushed too far. Even as he thought of lowering the ring, however, she reached her hand forward.

"I will," Phila responded, her voice thick with emotion. The cheering around them turned into roars of approval as Walter slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a little large, given that Walter's own hands were significantly larger than hers, but somehow, it seemed to Walter that it fit her perfectly.

 **AN:**

 **ABOUT FUCKING TIME, YOU OLD MORON!**


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

 **Tradition**

"Walter, we don't have to do this," Phila said worriedly for the thousandth time since they'd left the castle later that day.

"Perhaps not," Walter admitted, breaking the cyclical argument they'd had thus far, and nearly causing Phila to stumble in surprise, "but I wish to anyway."

"But _why_?" Phila asked almost desperately. "You know my father and I do not get along. If he had another heir to pass his estate onto, he'd have disowned me and done so ages ago. Why does his opinion matter so much to you?"

Walter sighed as they reached the Noble Quarter, and began winding through the streets to their destination. "In truth, it does not," Walter told her. "But, God willing, he will be my father in law ere long." Phila blushed at the new idea of them getting married, but Walter pressed on nonetheless. "While I do not want nor require his permission, I respect Ylissean tradition enough to at least inform the man in person." In Bersia, they had long since moved past legally requiring the father's blessing to wed, but it was still customary to inform them and (hopefully) obtain their blessing.

"This is a terrible idea," Phila reiterated.

"Perhaps," Walter replied as they arrived at the front gate of Talys Manor and were admitted in by the watchman. "Then again, by any objective measures, our very courtship is a terrible idea."

Phila rolled her eyes. "It seems the pair of us is just full of terrible ideas," she joked, though her tone was still worried.

"Just so," Walter replied with a smile as they knocked on the door of Talys Manor.

To Walter's surprise, Duke Talys himself was the one who answered. The elder Talys gave them both a shrewd look, before turning to Walter with an unreadable expression. "You're early," he said vaguely.

"I'm…sorry?" Walter asked, nonplussed, looking to Phila for help. She gave a slight shrug; she was just as confused. "Did we have an appointment? If so, I am terribly sorry for forgetting."

Talys snorted. "No, you simpleton," Talys responded. "I didn't expect we'd be having this conversation for another six months, give or take, if you remember what I said at your knighting ceremony." He shook his head in amusement as Walter's face lit up in comprehension, before blushing lightly in embarrassment as Phila shot him an incredulous look. "I suppose you were less dense than I thought you'd be. Duke Sedgar wins this bet." _IS THERE NO ONE WHO HAS NOT MADE SPORT OF OUR LOVE LIFE!?_ "Well, there's no point in having this conversation out here. This way," he gestured, before turning and walking back into the house. Walter shot Phila an uneasy glance, and got one in return, before they followed the old man in.

He led them through his modest mansion, into what was obviously the dining room. It was relatively small, for a noble house anyway, with a rectangular table just large enough to entertain six or so people. Talys sat along one of the long edges of the table, and gestured for the pair of them to sit opposite him. They obliged, and waited for the old man to speak.

"So, let's get down to brass tacks," the man said after a moment of tense silence. "You're obviously here to beg my permission to marry my daughter." He looked at Walter shrewdly, before amending, "or at the very least you're here to inform me, and go ahead with it regardless of what I say."

"You would be correct on the second count, Duke Talys," Walter admitted. "I am aware of Ylissean tradition on the matter, but as I am Bersian by birth, my own homeland's traditions carry more weight with me. I seek your blessing, but do not require it."

"Hmph," Talys grunted. "Well, I suppose you're at least honest and forthcoming, which is more than I can say about Phila's last choice in a suitor," he said bluntly, and Phila cringed. "I can respect that, at least, and hear what you have to say about it."

"There isn't much to explain," Walter replied simply. "I love your daughter, and intend to marry her."

"And what of your obligations?" Talys said, frowning at him. "You are subordinate and superior officers to each other, which presents a conflict of interest in the performance of your duties. You have also functioned as each other's healers, if what I'm told is correct. I don't know about Bersians, but Ylissean healers are forbidden from pursuing their patients. Do you intend to just throw that all in the wind?"

Walter shook his head. "No, Duke Talys," he said seriously. "In Bersia, there is a saying; 'we hold our swords first, hearts second'. As much as it pains me to think about it, my duty is first and foremost to the halidom. If such a conflict of interest arises, I will be forced to place the welfare of the halidom above your daughter's. As for our oaths as healers, Phila will be seeing Libra, or another of the Shepherds, for her medical needs. All other medical concerns have long since passed."

Talys was silent of for a few eternally long moments, turning that shrewd gaze of his between the pair of them, before he sighed. "Well, I can't say that comforts me as a father, but it is the right answer. You have my blessing."

Walter and Phila were dumbfounded, to say the least, trading a long glance between them. Phila then spoke up. "Father, why do you approve _now_?" She asked, almost angry. "Until I joined the Pegasus Knights and forswore men altogether, you tried your utmost to ensure that all of my previous suitors were turned away, most notably Roark. No one tried after that, but I've no doubt you would have done the same to them. Why now? Why do you suddenly care about my happiness?" she asked, now quite angry and bitter.

"I never stopped caring about your happiness," Talys replied evenly. "It is not my fault you attract men who are less than desirable son in laws." Phila just glared at him, and he sighed, before speaking again. "Tell me, how many of your suitors weren't later found to be criminals, or philanderers, or violent abusers, or corrupt? How many of them deserted during the first crusade against Plegia, or turned coat?" Phila's glare faded, turning embarrassed. "Not a single one of those bastards understood _duty_ or _love,_ Phila," he emphasized. "They were poor choices in men. Even Roark, who you were so very smitten with, had no respect for duty."

"Roark served honorably, faithfully, for years!" Phila protested, now angry again. "Exalt Bertrand proclaimed there could be no more loyal a man!"

"And scarcely a few weeks ago, the General here crushed his chest in with a mace for betraying Exalt Bertrand's own children," Talys countered bluntly, and Phila visibly winced. "He even tried to have _you_ murdered, just for being in the way. Tell me, Phila, had _you_ married the man instead of his wife, where would you be? Dead, just the same as him, because I know full well that you would have fought to the death with him at Dornheim. Do you really care so little for me that you wish that pain on me, of losing my only daughter?" he snapped.

"I could have convinced him!" Phila insisted. "It would never have gone that far!"

"Even granting that ridiculous assertion," Talys countered, "tell me, would you have been happy with him?" Phila's face became confused. "You know just as well as I do that he became hard, cold…almost cruel. Could you have been happy being married to such a man?"

"I…no," Phila admitted, sighing morosely. "I would have been miserable. Heartbroken. I already was, just being his friend."

"Exactly," Talys stated. "It may be hard for you to see, but everything I have done is to ensure your happiness."

"I feel I must speak up," Walter said, turning Talys' attention to him. "Phila told me of your…confrontation in front of Thorne Manor. In what way was _that_ supposed to ensure her happiness?"

Talys' gaze turned hard. "Don't presume to know my intentions better than I, boy," he growled, before deflating. "Although…I do regret what happened. Not Roark's refusal to try to court you behind my back, but…what I put you through, Phila," Talys said softly, turning back to his daughter. "I was angry, and let that cloud my judgment and affect my behavior. I should never have publicly shamed you like that."

Phila was unfazed. "Yet you did anyway," she snapped.

"Yes, I did," Talys sighed. "Did you ever stop to wonder why I so easily let you join the Pegasus Knights, despite my previously heavy-handed approach to the matter, or why I never tried to reconcile with you? Why I stopped chasing away suitors, the same ones you spurned yourself until people realized you simply weren't interested?"

"I'd assumed you wanted nothing to do with me," Phila replied bitterly. "That seems the most obvious reason."

"It seems that way, doesn't it? Perhaps if I wasn't so craven….nothing could be farther from the truth," Talys stated sadly. "I have always adored you, Phila, but…my shame at what I did…well, I couldn't stomach the thought of trying to force my will on you again. So I let you distance yourself from me as much as you pleased, let you do as you saw fit. I figured I'd lost the right to have your love or respect. And I very clearly underestimated you; beyond my influence, you have grown into one of the finest knights the halidom has ever known, beloved and respected by practically everyone. It goes to show what an old fool like me knows, eh?... It may come twenty years too late and mean far too little, but I am terribly sorry for what I did to you. It weighs on me more heavily than anything I did in Plegia in the First Crusade, though that might only reinforce your negative views of me."

Phila's jaw dropped slightly at that, and the room fell silent.

"F-father," Phila said quietly after an eternity of silence, her voice almost breaking, a tear streaming down her cheek. "It may be twenty years late, but…it means more to me than you could ever know to hear you say that."

"Well, what say you?" Talys responded with a weak smile. "Can you forgive an old fool like me?"

Phila's response was swift; she leapt over the table and practically knocked her father out of his chair, latching onto him. He carefully stood up as his daughter clung to him and wept, before returning her embrace. "Yes, Father, I forgive you," she said in between sobs.

Walter smiled at the pair as they clung to each other. They stayed like that for several minutes, simply holding each other. Eventually Phila's sobbing stopped, and she released her father. He then turned back to Walter as Phila wiped her cheeks.

"So, boy, you have my blessing," Talys stated. "Do you have any other questions to ask of me?"

In truth, Walter had dozens, maybe even hundreds of them, but one floated to the forefront of his mind and practically sprung from his lips unbidden. "Why do you approve of me, personally?" he asked. "I've done…horrible things," Walter admitted. "Including betraying my own sovereign, back in Bersia. What do you see in me that so many others did not have?"

"You betrayed your sovereign because the man was addled by a dark magical artifact and bent on world domination, correct?" Talys asked, and Walter nodded. "That is one of the _very_ _few_ reasons betrayal might be tolerable. As for your other crimes…well, I was a General during the first crusade. I've no right to judge you on shedding the blood of innocents. As for what I see in you…a man with honor, who understands his duty, and is willing to do it, despite the costs. You're a bit dense, perhaps, but all in all, you're a far sight better than any of Phila's other suitors." He nodded once. "You're not perfect, but nobody is. You'll do just fine for a son in law. All I ask is that you make my daughter happy."

"I…thank you, Duke Talys," Walter replied humbly. "I will do my utmost to ensure Phila remains happy."

"Oh please, it's Philip," Talys said, waving his hand flippantly. "We're set to be family now, remember? And you're a Duke yourself now, we can save the formalities for Council sessions or public meetings."

"Very well, Philip," Walter responded with a smile.

"Now, if that's all," Talys stated, "I've got an appointment with Duchess Grant to be off to. Do stop by again; you're both welcome any time."

"We will, Father," Phila replied quickly, before giving him another hug. "We have twenty years to catch up on, after all."

"Yes, we do," Philip chuckled as he hugged her back. Walter and Phila then bade him a good day, and exited the manor.

As they set off down the street again, Walter turned to Phila, whose expression seemed torn between a smile and a frown. "That went much better than you thought it would," he said almost smugly.

Phila sighed, before fully smiling and turning toward him. "I suppose it did," she said with a dry laugh, before her smile dropped. "It's just…surreal, almost. I feel like I'm in a dream, and I'm terrified that I'll wake up to find that none of this happened. That I'll wake to find that you haven't visited me, you hadn't proposed, and I hadn't reconciled with my father. Father… I'd hoped in vain for years that we would reconcile, but I'd assumed for so long he simply did not want me…I have been such a fool."

"Your conclusion was not unreasonable," Walter assured her, putting his hand on her shoulder briefly. "I'd thought much the same of him after learning what he'd done. Love makes people act in the strangest of ways."

"Yes, I suppose it does," Phila said with a smile, before reaching over and grabbing his hand. "Thank you, Walter. We'd never have reconciled if not for you. You're a blessing from Naga herself."

"Then why is it that I am the one who feels so blessed?" Walter asked. Phila simply smiled and gently bumped him with her shoulder in response. The two then turned their attentions forward, returning to Castle Ylisstol, hand in hand.

 **AN:**

 **This was the ending my friend whose story Phila's backstory is based off of wanted in her own life. She loved her dad, still does, and just wanted her dad to admit it was wrong. Unlike Philip, however, her dad was a tremendous, immature dickwad and didn't. So, this is for you, if by some miracle you read this. I hope one day he stops being a fucking retard, but I wouldn't place my bets on it.**


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53**

 **A Day at the Office**

Several weeks had passed since Walter had become betrothed to Phila, and life had finally settled into a modicum of normality. Chrom had finally declared an end to the state of emergency the Second Plegian War had started, and Walter had settled into a regular routine. His days started with morning prayers, and then he had breakfast, spent an hour or so training in the courtyard, and reported for work at a few hours before midday. He would then work in his office until lunch, and break briefly for said meal. He would spend two hours assisting Frederick with the training of the officer cadets, before going to the capital's Temple of Naga and spend a couple more hours instructing the higher level clerics in Bersian holy magic. From there, he would return to work, before eating dinner, working some more, and retiring for the evening. To Walter's immense relief, the end of the state of emergency meant that Council sessions were now once a month instead of once a week. This gave Walter much more free time in which to accomplish actual work, and despite having more to do than ever, he was finally making some headway…though at times he didn't feel like it.

"Captain, what's the status on the reorganization of the Third Regiment in General Sedgar's Fourth Division?" Walter asked, staring down at his own work.

"Almost complete, General," Phila answered after a moment. "The only thing they lack is their new commanding officer. If I might make a recommendation, or rather several, I've reviewed the last examination scores for the officer cadets, and compiled a list of who I believe will rank where on the final exam in three months time."

Walter looked up at Phila and smiled. "I commend your initiative, bring it here and I'll take a look at it myself."

Phila obliged, stood up, and walked over to his desk, coming up beside him and placing the list in front of him.

"Harold is doing quite well, as I'd expected," Walter muttered as he burned through the list. "Allen is excelling, as per usual…Byron is doing…adequately…Of course Rodger is barely scraping by…Graeme is falling behind, yet you've placed him in the tier of prospective colonels?" he asked, turning to her in confusion.

"He's lowborn, General," Phila supplied. "From what Frederick told me, this is all fairly new to him. Frederick expects him to improve by leaps and bounds as he becomes more familiar with the rigors of command."

"I trust in his judgment, and yours," Walter responded, before setting down the list and sighing. "I still need to inform the current Generals of their own obligations to complete the course…that will not be a pleasant Council session. Assuming I get their cooperation, which I'm not counting on at all, I will have to double check on the progress of Miriel's gunpowder weapons research, compile a list of Bersian spells for…well, everyone in the Guild of Mages to review, come up with _some_ manner of strategy to counter Bersian air units should the need arise, given that pegasi are woefully underprepared to deal with Storm Riders or Hexterian Wyverns…I feel like I am drowning, Phila. Even with a cowed Council after the failed coup, it hardly seems that we are getting anything done. Then there comes my duties as Duke of Nordenheim…. We have not even started planning our wedding yet, and it's been nearly three weeks since we were betrothed. It just never ends!"

"We have changed more in these past few months than has been done in centuries, Walter. I know it is hard to see, but we _are_ getting things done…I believe you need a break," Phila said worriedly, before placing her hands on his shoulders and massaging them gently. Walter let out an involuntary groan of relief. "Now I _know_ you need a break," she chided. "Normally when I touch you in any manner greater than holding hands or interlocking arms you shoo me away."

"Just this once, I will let it slide," Walter sighed happily as her fingers slowly dissolved the stones that had replaced the muscles in his shoulders. They'd exchanged little more than chaste kisses and small, cordial gestures of affection so far; Walter was unwilling to press further, out of respect for Phila, despite what he'd found to be an almost eagerness for acts of intimacy. He supposed that stemmed from her relative lack of intimacy throughout most of her life, but he would never do anything untoward, as Phila already assured him she knew (much to her seeming annoyance), but he remained diligent all the same. All it took was a single lapse in judgment, after all.

"Well, aren't I lucky," Phila said sarcastically behind him. "Though I can't help but wonder how far your tolerance will go," she added in an almost seductive whisper, suddenly much closer to his ear. He could feel her breath on his neck now, and Walter suppressed a shudder.

"Do not test me, Phila," he warned, though his tone seemed rather strained, even by his ears. _Why is my voice so feeble?_

"I would do nothing of the sort, General," Phila said, her voice still sultry, as she snaked her arms fully over his shoulders, embracing him from behind. "After all, why would I want such a handsome, wonderful man angry with me?" Despite the fact that she was speaking barely above a whisper, the sound thundered in Walter's ear. He then let out a sound somewhere between a guttural growl of pleasure and a yelp of surprise as he felt Phila's lips brush his neck. "Do you see?" she whispered, before planting another kiss on his neck. There was no yelp in his voice this time. "I wish only to make you happy."

"Phila, we're supposed to be working," Walter reprimanded. "And this is entirely inappropriate," he added. Once again his voice committed base treason, however, and his tone came out longing instead of stern. _To the stockade with it! But why is Phila acting like this anyway? She's hinted at wanting more, but such…forwardness…_

"No, you're supposed to be on break, and I believe I should take one as well," Phila countered huskily, planting another kiss on his neck, this one closer to the shoulder, and Walter craned his neck to try to glare at her disapprovingly. Once his eyes met hers, however, such thoughts immediately fled his mind, and were replaced with white noise and a very strong _something_ that somewhat resembled a very ravenous hunger. Walter was both exhilarated and alarmed to see the same desire reflected in Phila's russet orbs. "You always work so hard, Walter," she whispered, almost sounding sad. "You never make time for yourself...I suppose that I'll have to-"

"Oh dear Naga!" A voice came from the doorway. Walter and Phila both visibly jumped and turned crimson simultaneously, their gazes snapping to the doorway as Phila bolted upright. It was Rickard, of all people, making a show of averting his eyes. "Oh, I did _not_ need to see that," he said dramatically. "My poor, innocent young mind is forever scarred."

"You saw nothing," Walter said forcefully, his traitorous voice finally coming to heel and coming out as strong as he'd intended. "The Captain and I were simply reviewing her early predictions for who would place where in the officer corps."

"Yes, of course," Rickard said with a knowing smile as he sat at his desk. Phila chose that moment to return to her own desk. Walter saw out of the corner of his eye her shoot him an expression of mixed disappointment and that same longing, but it was gone after the briefest of moments, quickly buried under the professional veteran he'd come to expect from her.

"I…I had not expected you back at the office," Walter admitted to Rickard, shaking his thoughts from the less than appropriate place they'd just been. "Not for a long time, yet. Your duties as Duke must be as extensive as mine."

"They are," Rickard admitted, "but Mother and Father did not leave me wholly unprepared for the position, and Father had much of his affairs already sorted. It will take getting used to, of course, but I am equal to the task. The only thing I could have asked for is that Bastian had survived, but…well, he likely would have killed himself in shame. I suppose his end was exactly as he'd wanted it: dying beside his lord."

"I have faith in your abilities, Captain," Walter assured. His thoughts turned then to what he wanted to discuss with Rickard before, and he frowned before turning to Phila. "Captain, might you excuse yourself for a spell? I've need to talk with Captain Thorne."

"About your role in my father's death?" Rickard asked bluntly before Phila could do more than place her arms on her chair to stand up. "There is nothing really to discuss, General," Rickard said sadly. "And certainly nothing that can't be said around the woman who wet-nursed me…" he trailed off briefly as Phila settled back down, before steeling his resolve. "I do not blame you, General. Father forced our hands. He killed himself with your mace, as far as I'm concerned. If you fear I'll request a change in position, or that I will hate you, you are wrong on both counts."

Walter wasn't convinced. "Rickard, there is no need to bottle it up," he said sternly. "It will do no one any good."

"There's nothing to bottle up," Rickard insisted. "House Thorne is notorious for moving past death quickly and with relative ease, General. I may not be my father's equal in many regards, but I was more than his equal in that…and he moved on from Mother's death in mere months. Also, after reading my father's journals…The father I'd grown up with had died years ago, his true soul lost to the cruelty and barbarism of the crusade and the death of his love. The events at Dornheim were not murder, or even justice, but mercy on a tortured soul. If I feel anything toward you, it is gratitude for freeing him from the rage, pain, and despair that had consumed him. You have my loyalty, respect, and thanks, General Lennart, and that is that."

Walter gazed at the man, trying to judge if he was lying or covering something up. Alas, Rickard was as plainly honest as he ever was, and Walter sighed. "Then thank you," Walter finally replied. "I am honored by your words. I am lucky to have you as my subordinate."

"That you are…oh, that reminds me!" Rickard stated out of the blue, eliciting looks of confusion from the other two. "While I was visiting Port Grant to iron out a tax plan with the Duchess, the first of the Bersian trade caravans came through."

"And…how does this relate to me?" Walter asked, nonplussed.

"Such a short memory will only do you ill, General," Rickard responded cheekily. "I seem to recall a fondness for a certain beverage available only in Bersia…"

The pieces fell into place in Walter's mind, and his eyes lit up. "Coffee?" He asked quietly, hopefully.

"Indeed," Rickard replied smugly. "The crates are currently sitting in the kitchens, King Chrom's servants are currently attempting to figure out how to brew- and, he's gone," Rickard chuckled as the door slammed shut behind Walter.

"I'm not entirely sure that beverage isn't addictive," Phila said doubtfully as she eyed the door in worry.

"Well, he certainly wasn't suffering like drunks do when deprived of the bottle," Rickard replied in his defense. "Perhaps unnervingly overeager, but not addicted. We should keep an eye on him…though I suspect that will be no problem for you," he finished with a cheeky grin.

"Oh shut up," Phila grumbled as Rickard laughed at her increasingly red face.

Twenty minutes later, Walter returned to the office. With him was a platter, carrying a large kettle, a bowl of sugar, a creamer, and three mugs, humming merrily. Walter never hummed.

"Coffee?" he asked Rickard, almost disturbingly cheerfully, as he waltzed into the room.

"Any beverage that makes a man act so out of character has no place in my body," Rickard replied, unnerved at this new, creepily cheerful Walter. Walter paid him no heed, placing a mug on the table and pouring him a generous portion anyway. He looked Rickard up and down, unnerving the young man, before he added a three spoonfuls of sugar. He didn't even bother asking Phila as he placed the second mug on her own desk. He looked shrewdly at her for an uncomfortable second, before adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a tiny bit of cream to it. He then carried the tray over to his own desk, before finally pouring himself a cup, and added a single spoonful of sugar and a small amount of cream.

"This drink will revolutionize your life!" Walter declared, his voice still disquietingly cheerful, before he grabbed his own mug and drank from it slowly, savoring the flavor he'd been so long deprived of. "Well, go on!" he said to his two adjutants, who were looking at him as if he was mad, "Drink!"

Rickard and Phila shared a single nervous glance, before Phila shrugged and reached for her own mug, taking a tentative sip. Rickard sighed in resignation before grabbing his own mug and taking a drink from it himself.

"It's…I don't know how to describe it," Phila said contemplatively, before smiling. "It tastes fine enough, at the least. It tastes somewhat bitter, but you added just the right amount of sugar, and the cream goes well with it."

"I also don't mind it," Rickard said, though he clearly wasn't as impressed. "I prefer tea, myself, but this is certainly different, in a good way."

"I am glad you both enjoy it," Walter said, hiding the grin that threatened to break loose on his face. _They don't know what is about to happen_. "If you desire more, feel free to help yourself. I've already instructed the servants in how to prepare it, and ordered another kettle to be brought up in the next half hour."

"And if we did not wish for more?" Rickard asked amusedly.

"Then I will drink it all myself," Walter pledged, and the other two laughed. They each then turned to their work. Walter snuck glances regularly; they were each consuming their beverages rather fast, and again he had to restrain his smile. He almost broke out into laughter as they neared that magical fifteen minute mark and had already finished off two cups each.

Walter's grin finally broke free as the effects of the drink hit the pair of them.

It was subtle at first. He could see Rickard tapping his quill absently on the desk whenever he wasn't writing, leaving ink stains all over the reports. Not that the now fidgety young Duke noticed…Talys, on the other hand, was drumming an incredibly fast rhythm on the desk with her free hand now, and he could see her leg bouncing as she tapped her foot on the ground.

"You know," Rickard said curiously as he noticed the damage he was causing to his own work load, "I feel somewhat…energetic all of a sudden. I wonder what's come over me."

"Oh, you as well?" Phila asked as she continued drumming on the table. "That's an odd coincid…Walter?" She suddenly asked, turning a sharp gaze at the now openly grinning paladin. "What does this beverage do?"

"It is best imbibed in the morning, or when one is suspecting to be working late into the night," Walter answered vaguely. Rickard looked at him, utterly befuddled, but Phila's gaze hardened as she realized exactly what Walter had just done. "I have a feeling this is going to be a very productive afternoon."

And it was. Under the magical power of coffee, the three of them carved through at least half again as much work as they normally would by the time the sun began to set…although Rickard seemed ready to vibrate apart at the seams as the sun's last rays shone through into the office. He hadn't stopped drinking coffee, even after the third kettle had been brought up.

"Moderation, Captain," Walter warned as Rickard poured himself another cup for the nth time.

"General, I would like to apologize," Rickard said, at such a fast clip and so giddy that Walter became concerned for the man's health. "I should never have doubted you. This is truly the greatest beverage across all possible worlds. Why, I feel like I could do three consecutive sessions of Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour and hardly break a sweat."

Walter shot a nervous glance to Phila, who was now glaring at him disapprovingly. "Perhaps you should consider not drinking that cup," Walter suggested.

"I could work all night like this!" Rickard countered. "Why would I _not_ drink this cup? In fact, why am I bothering?" he giggled, before setting the cup down and reaching for the kettle itself. "This seems much more expedient."

"Alright, that's enough," Phila sighed, standing up. Rickard looked at her, confused, before she walked over and seized him by the wrist, dragging him away from his desk…and the coffee.

"NO!" Rickard shouted melodramatically as Phila began dragging him toward the door. "My precious!"

"You're seeing a healer," she said shortly. As they reached the door, she turned around and glared frozen death at Walter. "And we will be having _words_ about this, love," she promised ominously, before closing the door far too gently for a woman who was clearly angry. Somehow, it was worse than slamming it.

Walter remained frozen in trepidation for a second, before shrugging. "I guess they didn't like the coffee," Walter said, before getting up and helping himself to another cup. _Waste not, want not, after all,_ Walter thought contentedly as he sat back down with his prize. Oh, how he'd missed coffee.

 **AN:**

 **Something lighthearted after all of the drama and shit. Also, COFFEE MOTHERFUCKERS. IT IS THE FUEL OF LIFE. RESPECT IT. I don't drink it very often myself, unfortunately, but it is a godsend when you're put on tower guard 3** **rd** **shift and aren't allowed to chain smoke to stay awake. Praise the bean. Praise it.**

 **Also, I'm not making Phila into a slut. You ever been with an older woman who hasn't seen any substantial intimacy for decades? Cause I have. "Eager" doesn't even fucking describe it. It wasn't an isolated experience either. Turns out women can get aroused too, who woulda thought?**


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

 **Nordenheim**

"Well, this is it, General," Phila said quietly next to Walter. "Your new home."

" _Our_ new home," Walter corrected, causing Phila to blush, "or it shall be once we are married."

It was the beginning of the new year and the dead of winter as Walter finally took his first steps into his Duchy. He had decided at the start of winter that he would be moving his operations to Nordenheim; he was beginning to feel trapped within the capital, and things were no longer quite so urgent that he _needed_ to be there. So, after he'd overseen the first graduation ceremony of the Officer's Candidate School, he had left for his new home. It was directly east of Dornheim, making him neighbors with Rickard in a sense, and he quickly decided he enjoyed his new home. The Duchy of Nordenheim was also highly reminiscent of Ecclesia; the same bracing chill in the air, the same tall, strong evergreens, the same smell of pine and earth, and the same view of mountains in the distance…yes, he would be quite comfortable here. At the moment, he sat atop his horse on a hill overlooking the titular capital of Nordenheim; a modest, but thriving city, already hustling and bustling in the dull winter morning light. He saw Castle Nordenheim, his actual home, sitting atop the tallest hill in the city; it was a small little castle, barely even a fort if Walter was being honest, but with the central, raised location, it looked highly defensible.

"It feels strange that we will not be working with Rickard on a daily basis anymore," Phila muttered wistfully. "I have become accustomed to his presence, and I worry for him. After he graduates from the Officer's Candidate School, he'll be returning to Dornheim to take command of his Father's division alone. He's too young for all of this."

"He has his own responsibilities," Walter reminded her. "He cannot lead his Duchy from the capital, or even from here, which is part of the reason we're coming here ourselves. I have faith that he is ready for the responsibility." Phila still didn't look convinced, still worried. "Besides, if his last letter is any indication, he will not be alone for long…"

"What do you mean?" Phila asked curiously.

"He mentioned that he was getting along rather famously with Duchess Grant's younger sister at the Officer's School," Walter said with a chuckle, and Phila's eyes widened in surprise. "In fact, when last I spoke to him, before we left Ylisstol, I learned more of her own affairs than his. I have little doubt we'll be receiving a letter in short order of yet another engagement." Walter chuckled at that, and of the thought that practically all of the Shepherds were now married or preparing to be married; Virion, Robin, and Kellam were the only ones he could think of who were not.

"By Naga, are you serious?" Phila asked incredulously. Walter nodded, and she laughed joyously. "I'm quite happy for him," she said with a warm smile. "Jessica is a sweet girl, practically the opposite of her sister Isabelle, I'm sure he'll be happy with her."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Walter responded, reaching over and squeezing Phila's hand. "Come now; let us go to our new home." They then set off toward Nordenheim at a casual pace.

Walter looked around in approval as he marched through the streets, his hood's cloak drawn and armor concealed beneath it to avoid attention. He wished to get his first impression of the city when people weren't scrambling over themselves to pay homage. The city was clearly well off; his steward, Seth, had apparently taken his duties rather seriously in ensuring that the city was thriving. He had yet to meet the man, but already had a good impression of his competence. There were hundreds of people flitting about, trading and interacting, the usual hubbub of the city that Walter was so accustomed to. The guard rotations were quite satisfactory as well; if anybody were to attempt to commit a crime here, they would pay swiftly and most dearly.

They arrived at Castle Nordenheim perhaps ten minutes after entering the city, and upon identifying who he was, the guards immediately allowed them to enter. They dismounted, a stableman taking their horses for them, and walked up to the front door of the Castle proper.

When they opened it, they were greeted by a man several years older than either of them with salt and pepper hair and a thin moustache and goatee, wearing a fine blue tunic and black boots polished to an immaculate sheen. He was standing professionally with his arms behind his back, and cleared his throat as they drew near.

"Duke Lennart," the man said, bowing deeply, "I am Seth, your retainer and steward. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last."

Walter nodded respectfully as Seth stood back up straight. "A pleasure to meet you, Seth. How fares Nordenheim?"

"All is well, General," Seth responded, before adopting an uneasy look. "Except perhaps for a couple of minor issues…but we can discuss those later. Please, you and milady should come in out of the cold and warm up by the fire. I have tea brewing currently as well."

Walter raised an eyebrow; Seth's demeanor was far more uneasy than a couple of "minor" issues would suggest, and his correspondence of late had carried allusions to internal troubles, but he figured Seth would get around to it once they were inside. Seth stepped aside and gestured them in, and Walter took his first good look around the Castle.

He snorted in disdain; the late Duke Vyland had clearly loved opulence. His floors were pristine marble, polished to an immaculate shine, with rich tapestries and banners bearing the old House crest, a golden owl, hung periodically from poles and banners. An expensive, solid gold chandelier hung over the main hall, and the marble stairs were carpeted with a rich purple fabric. The railings on the stairs were all gilded, much to Walter's disdain. As Seth led them through one of the doors at the side of the hall, he snorted again in disgust; there were obviously priceless paintings and marble statues spaced periodically through the hall, and doubtlessly the others as well.

"Is the castle not to your liking, milord?" Seth asked evenly as Walter snorted a third time at a particularly…lewd statue of a woman.

"No, it is not," Walter answered honestly. "I will be selling most of this…'decoration' and add the funds to the coffers. There is no need for such decadence, not when there are still war orphans that need housing."

Seth smiled at that. "Oh, thank the gods," he breathed. "I do not wish to speak ill of my former master, but he truly had a taste for opulence, and I could never stomach it. I believe I will come to enjoy serving you, General."

"I certainly hope so," Walter chuckled. He turned to Phila, who was gazing with disinterest at her surroundings. "Have you been here before, Phila?" he asked.

"Once," Phila said. "For some celebration, I can't remember the particular reason, back when I was still a young woman. Vyland's father did not quite match his son's decadent tastes, but much of this décor has been here since his days. I was not impressed at the time, and I must confess to still not being impressed."

Walter laughed at that. "Worry not, Phila, this gaudy décor will not remain for long." He turned back to Seth, who was still leading them down the hall. "Aside from the décor, are there any problems with the Castle itself?"

"The study has a bit of a draft," Seth informed him as they walked into what was obviously the sitting room, "one of the lesser used servant's passages is in disrepair, the pantry had a bit of a mouse problem that I assure you is being taken care of, and the stables could use a new roof. Other than those minor issues, the Castle is in spectacular shape, and completely defensible."

"That is good to hear," Walter said as he lowered himself carefully into a reading chair that looked to cost as much as Walter's armor. Phila did the same in another chair across from his. The sitting room was quite cozy, Walter thought; the dark oak paneling on the walls, the lush carpet, and the roaring fire were all quite welcoming. Of course, the paintings of women in various states of undress and stuffed animal heads would have to go, but this was by far the least gaudily decorated room in the Castle. Despite wearing armor, Walter felt himself relaxing almost immediately due to the softness and comfort of the chair, evident even through his armor. _Perhaps I will keep the chair,_ he thought with amusement. "I can assume, then, that the 'minor issues' you have referenced before are not related to the Castle itself?" he said aloud to Seth.

Seth's face turned grim. "I fear not, milord," he sighed. "Again, I do not wish to speak ill of my former master, but there are certain…problems that I believe you will not be so willing to ignore as he was."

"Speak your mind," Walter said simply. "I will not punish you for speaking out."

Seth let out a relieved smile. "There are, simply put, criminals running amok, milord."

"What manner of criminals?" Walter said, his tone now serious.

"Two skilled bandit leaders who have been raiding on both sides of the Feroxi border, and one animal smuggling ring," Seth responded, his tone equally serious. "The two bandits are a pair of twins named Vincent and Victor, and the animal smugglers are operating out of Pinebrook, one of the villages in the southeast corner of the Duchy. Duke Vyland knew all of them were operating in the area, and I suspect he was receiving bribes to ignore them. I have prepared dossiers on the three of them, milord."

"I will take a look at them," Walter promised. "I will not tolerate criminals in my duchy, especially bandits. They will be rooted out swiftly and without mercy. For now, I wish for you to draft a message to Ylisstol, begging the aid of the King's Shepherds in disposing of these ruffians."

"Very well, milord," Seth said dutifully, smiling slightly, before bowing and exiting the room.

Phila raised an eyebrow as Seth left. "Well, it certainly didn't take long for problems to fall into our laps here," she chuckled wryly.

"There wouldn't be any if Vyland had done his bloody job," Walter growled, before his gaze softened. "We will have peace soon enough, Phila. I do not intend to spend the rest of my life with you fighting others."

Phila laughed at that. "Yes, I suppose it would get repetitive after a while," she said amusedly, before leaning back into her chair. "I cannot speak to House Vyland's decorative tastes, but they certainly know how to pick a chair. This one is supremely comfortable."

Walter chortled at that. "Indeed they are. In fact, I'm going to go take off my armor before I ruin it."

"Would you like my assistance?" Phila asked innocently as Walter stood upright.

Walter just leveled a glare without heat at her, and she was clearly restraining a smile. "The last time you assisted me in removing my armor, you seemed rather reluctant to stop there. I believe I can handle it," he said sternly, though he was also clearly struggling to contain his own amusement."

"Foiled again," Phila sighed theatrically, before laughing lightly at Walter's rolling eyes. "One would almost swear you didn't want me," she muttered.

Walter simply rolled his eyes again; she had tried that guilt trip before, only for him to end up falling over himself to reassure her, much to her amusement. "We've already discussed this, Phila. I want you just as much, if not more, than you want me, but we will have to wait."

"Until the wedding, I know," Phila sighed disappointedly. "It's just…" she trailed off, looking atypically unsure of herself.

"What is it, Phila?" Walter asked softly, stepping closer to her and kneeling down.

"I'm…I'm not young anymore, Walter," she said quietly. "My hourglass is moving quite quickly at this point. I…I want children," she stated nervously. "My own child, _our_ own child. I fear that every month that passes bears me ever closer to the point where I can't bear them anymore. I'd rather throw my honor to the wind than miss our opportunity to have children together. The chances of having more than one at this point are even poorer."

Walter laid a hand on her shoulder gently. "You've still a decade or more yet before that time comes," he reassured her. "You have nothing to fear. Regardless, I suppose we will just have to start planning the wedding as soon as possible. Tonight, in fact," he proclaimed, before placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

She smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. "You intend to reorganize an army, fight a notorious bandit troupe, stop an animal smuggling ring, rule the Duchy, and plan a wedding all at the same time?" She asked skeptically. "You are certainly a capable man, General, but that is quite the to-do list you've made for yourself."

"I like to consider myself ambitious," Walter chuckled, before growing serious. "If you are that worried about your age and ability to bear children, which I personally think you really should not be, then it is only sensible that I should place a priority on our wedding."

"You're such a sweet man under that gruff exterior," Phila said lovingly as she reached over and briefly hugged him, before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Go on and remove your armor, I'll see about finding one of the servants and getting dinner started."

Walter nodded and rose as Phila did, and they both left the room, before going their separate ways, with Walter thinking warm thoughts about their future together. It wasn't until Walter got to his room on the second floor that he realized what he'd just gotten himself into; he'd helped plan his first wedding, and it had been more stressful than just about anything before Greyhampton.

His next few months would be quite busy indeed.

000

"Walter, great to see you!" A voice shouted behind him two weeks later. Walter turned around to see Robin striding through the snow of Castle Nordenheim's courtyard, with Tharja, Gaius, Donnel, Sully, Libra, Olivia, and Virion in tow. Walter noticed that Tharja and Sully now both wore engagement rings, hovering quite close to Gaius and Donnel, respectively, and Libra had already been engaged when they'd left Ylisstol. Among the Shepherds present, only Robin and Virion were not betrothed. It was a strange thought, but a welcome one; it warmed his heart to see that love could blossom even just after a war. Of course, all he really needed to remind himself of that was to look at the woman he spent his days with, but it was nice to have other reminders as well.

"Robin, well met," Walter greeted warmly as he sheathed his mace, his heavy breaths visible in the chill morning air from his brief sparring match against Phila, who was leaning on her own lance now. "I trust that King Chrom has informed you of our troubles?"

"Yes, he did," Robin replied in a serious tone. "Twin bandit leaders and an animal smuggling ring. Thankfully, I believe we already have a lead on the whereabouts of at least one of them, Victor."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Go on," he urged.

"Khan Flavia recently sent Chrom a letter regarding some bandits that were somehow sneaking past the Longfort and harassing her villagers," Robin explained. "One village in particular is getting the worst of it, just north of the Longfort, and their trail was last seen heading south to Ylisse. The methods match Seth's dossier on the twins, it's our best place to start."

Walter nodded, before turning to the other Shepherds. "It is good to see all of you again," he greeted warmly.

"May Naga bless this meeting," Libra greeted warmly.

"H-hi," Olivia stuttered so quietly Walter almost didn't hear her. In truth, he only knew she'd spoken because she was blushing so furiously. Her timidity was almost painful to look at.

"I got bored stickin' around the castle, figured hunting some bandits would be a good change of pace," Gaius said with a grin.

"I'm just here to try out some new hexes," Tharja said pointedly, coldly. "I don't care what happens to the village. It's bloody cold here, though, I'm thinking I should have stayed home…"

"I'm here to crack some bandit skulls!" Sully cheered from atop her horse. "Scum won't know what hit 'em!"

"I don't like bandits, not one bit," Donnel said crossly from behind her, and Walter nodded sympathetically. He remembered the Farfort, and what had happened to Donnel's father. "I ain't fixin' to let these no good bastards get away with it!"

"To round out zis merriest of gangs, 'tis I, ze archest of archers, ze noble and humble Virion!" Virion finished as he drew his bow with a flourish.

"The only thing humble about you is your ability to hold your drinks," Robin snorted, causing the others to laugh and Virion to turn up his nose indignantly, though a smile was pulling at his features as well.

"Should we be expecting any more to join us?" Walter asked. "Not that those present aren't enough, mind, but it never hurts to have more men."

"Nope, this is about it," Robin said. "The rest of the Shepherds have dispersed from Ylisstol to their own homes for the Winter Solstice, or are too occupied with their own duties."

"Speaking of, Bubbles," Gaius spoke up with a grin, "aintcha supposed to be helping Chrom rebuild the halidom? I recall him sayin' something about organizing a cooperative reconstruction effort with Plegia…"

"Don't remind me," Robin groaned. "I took this mission to go on vacation; I'm losing my mind up in the Palace. I need to get back to basics, just some good old-fashioned bandit disposal."

Walter laughed at that. "Don't let Khan Flavia here you speaking like that, or I'll have to cram another wedding into my schedule." The sheer volume of weddings he'd been invited to (namely, all of them) had already filled a surprising amount of his schedule over the next year; he was having difficulty finding a date to set Phila's and his own wedding without conflicting with another's. It was already looking like it would be early next year, or even as far as that winter, much to Phila's disappointment.

"That's another reason I needed to get out," Robin grumbled. "The Shepherd's barracks has become like a couple's retreat. The reason I picked these guys to come with me is because they're not all over each other, like Miriel and Gregor or Vaike and Nowi."

"If you want a show, we'll give you one!" Sully jeered from her saddle, causing Donnel to turn an alarming shade of red that matched his betrothed's armor almost perfectly.

"That is the exact _opposite_ of what I want," Robin snapped back, causing the others to laugh. "Yeah guys, laugh it up."

"Fear not, most tactical of tacticians!" Virion exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Robin's shoulder, "I would gladly take you under my wing, zat you might embrace your bachelor status and partake of life's most pleasurable of avocations, ze pursuit of romance!"

Robin stuck his leg behind Virion's and shoved him backwards, causing the man to land on his rump in the snow when he lost his balance. "No, I don't want to be some philanderer either," he deadpanned, causing the others to laugh again as Virion stood up, brushing snow off of himself and muttering about a lack of respect and appreciation. "Now, can we get back on topic? I've already planned a route to the Feroxi village in question, and would like to review some strategies."

"Why don't we go inside, out of the cold?" Phila suggested.

"I like that idea, m'self, it's colder than Lon'qu's glare out here," Donnel spoke up, shivering violently. Walter then remembered that the Farfort was on the exact opposite end of the continent from Nordenheim, and Donnel had likely never even seen snow before.

"Agreed," Robin said with a grateful nod, intolerant of the cold himself. "I don't want to ruin all of my hard work by dropping it in the snow, after all." Walter nodded, before gesturing to them to follow and leading them into the castle.

000

Two hours later, they exited the castle, Walter and Robin wrapping up some last minute tactics and preparing to depart for the Longfort, when Phila's stunned gasp pulled Walter's attention forward. He quickly noted the source of Phila's shock; the pegasus they'd healed together, Erinys, was standing in the middle of the courtyard, with Cordelia attempting to get near it, and nearly getting blasted with holy magic for her trouble. Several of the guards were eyeing it curiously and warily, keeping their distance and looking unsure. Stahl was at the gate as well, atop a heavily panting destrier; what were they all doing here?

"Cordelia, what's going on here?" Phila asked in alarm.

"She just…took off on me," Cordelia said as she took another step forward, only for another blast of holy magic to crack the stone at her feet and cause her to jump back. "Calm down, girl!"

"What do you mean?" Phila asked, shuffling forward herself. Erinys eyed her with an unreadable look, and turned to snort at Cordelia angrily as the red-tressed Pegasus Knight attempted to approach again.

"She's been agitated for the past week and a half," Cordelia explained as she sighed in exasperation and stepped back. "Sumia and I were chatting in the stables the other day. When she mentioned that Robin and some others had left to meet with you two, she simply broke out of her stable and took off. I've been following her for days. She kept winding around and around, but ultimately led us here."

"What's the matter with you, Erinys?" Phila asked softly as she approached. Unlike with Cordelia, she allowed Phila to approach, and the veteran Pegasus Knight placed her hand gently on her snout. Cordelia huffed almost indignantly at the utter lack of resistance. "You were doing so well when we left…"

"Well, I think it's obvious what she's doing here," Robin spoke up. The pegasus whipped its head around in alarm at Robin's voice, snorting and stamping angrily as holy magic flared. "Wow, you really don't like me," Robin said with a chuckle, stepping back until he was almost back in the castle. Erinys finally calmed down, but continued to glare at the tactician. "Understandable, our last meeting wasn't exactly peaceful... Anyway, it's obvious that she missed you, Captain Phila."

"Is that true, girl?" Phila asked gently. The pegasus simply looked at her, but that seemed to be all the affirmation Phila needed. "You're such a sweetheart." Walter could have sworn the pegasus rolled it's eyes at that.

"Yeah, until she tries to kill you," Tharja muttered darkly from behind Robin. Erinys simply shot the sorceress a disdainful glare.

"Ignore her," Phila said sweetly, petting the creature's face gently.

"Well, what do we do now?" Robin asked. "We need to get moving, but we can't take her with us." The pegasus snorted angrily at that.

"Well, the answer's simple enough," Walter spoke up. "We get a saddle, and Phila rides her."

Phila raised an eyebrow. "Walter, you don't just throw a saddle on a pegasus," she admonished. "These creatures are almost as intelligent as you or I. You can't simply break them like a horse, they have to be _willing_."

Walter strode forward then, drawing close to the pegasus. She snorted, but did not back away. "I doubt she would have come all this way if she was not willing," Walter said, still looking at the pegasus. "Tell me I'm wrong," he directed at the pegasus. Some of the others looked at Walter like he was daft for talking to a pegasus, but he could have sworn that he saw an almost imperceptible nod from the creature.

Apparently, Phila saw it as well, her eyes widening in surprise. To Walter's surprise though, she looked rather hesitant. "I…I don't know," Phila said quietly, looking to the ground. "I would dearly love to fly again, but…I still grieve for Catria. I don't know if…"

"You've told me before of the bond a rider and pegasus share," Walter said as she trailed off. "It is clear that you have some sort of bond with Erinys, and it with you. What other reason would it have to break free, simply to find her way here?" Phila looked up at Walter, her face unsure. "Would Catria have preferred you to never fly again, to never form that bond with another pegasus?"

"Possibly," Phila laughed dryly, "she always was jealous when I would tend to other pegasi…but…" her gaze grew determined then, and she nodded. "I'll do it."

"Are you sure?" Walter asked. "Nobody would fault you…except perhaps Erinys." The pegasus snorted at that, hard enough to blow some of Walter's hair into his face.

"Not entirely," Phila answered honestly as she began stroking Erinys' face again. "But I miss flying most terribly, and I'm still rubbish at fighting on foot." Walter's sore and bruised limbs argued that point, but he opted not to vocalize it. "Do you know what you're getting yourself into, girl?" she asked the pegasus. "You'll be going into combat. You could die." The pegasus merely gazed at her out of one eye, as if asking if she was insulting her intelligence, and Phila sighed, before laughing softly. "Well, I guess that settles it then. I'm… I'm going to fly again."

000

Walter smiled from the head of the column as Phila soared overhead again, laughing as she had been nonstop for the entire half day they'd been marching. Cordelia was shortly behind her, smiling fondly and shaking her head as Phila and Erinys did a barrel roll. At first the pair had been obviously out of sync, Phila nearly falling several times, but they'd quickly adapted, and now Phila was "flying reconnaissance". Walter though she was simply doing aerial tricks and having the time of her life, but he certainly wouldn't begrudge her having fun. Walter didn't think he'd ever heard her so happy before, and the sound warmed his heart.

"At least someone's enjoying themselves," Robin grumbled from next to him, visibly shivering from the cold.

"Come now, Robin," Walter said with a grin, "It isn't even the coldest part of winter yet!"

"Don't remind me," Robin sighed, causing Walter to laugh. "I'm glad you think this is funny. You know, Frederick originally suspected me of being Plegian, and I'm starting to believe that myself. There's no other way I could be this intolerant of the cold."

"Would that bother you?" Walter asked. "Being Plegian, I mean."

Robin shrugged. "I don't know how to feel about it," Robin admitted. "I mean, we just finished a war with them a few months ago, but Emmeryn was right about them being decent people. Some of the others have a bit of an axe to grind with them, Maribelle especially, but…I just can't bring myself to hate them. Me being Plegian would also explain the fact that my coat is apparently Grimleal and…this," he admitted uneasily. He removed the glove on his right hand, revealing a purple tattoo that made the hairs on Walter's neck stand up. It appeared to be three sets of eyes on top of each other, a curved vertical line running down through each half of each pair, linked at the bottom in a helix pattern. Walter knew it was a trick of his eyes, but he could have sworn those eyes were staring straight at him.

"What is that?" Walter asked, trying and failing to keep his uneasiness from his voice.

"I've been doing research in the Royal Archives with Chrom's blessing, and it's called the 'Brand of the Defile'," Robin explained in monotone as he replaced his glove. "It's Grima's counterpart to the Brand of the Exalt, the Mark of Naga that each of the Exalted Line are born with. It's apparently quite common for Grimleal shamans to get it tattooed on whatever parts of their body aren't chopped off as part of dark magic rituals."

"So, you believe you were once a Grimleal shaman?" Walter asked, pointedly ignoring the bit about Grimleal self-mutilation.

"It would make the most sense, but…" Robin trailed off, before sighing. "I don't know. Whenever I think about the Grimleal too much, I feel anger. And fear. My best guess is that I had just left their Order for some reason when Chrom found me. It would explain why I was in Ylisse, despite there being no Grimleal sect in Ylisse at all. It would also explain why I'm so proficient at dark magic."

Walter nodded, thinking about the sheer mastery of dark magic Robin had displayed back when they'd cured Erinys. The man had seemed to lose his mind for a bit, sure, but the spell itself was far more powerful and controlled than anyone else in the Shepherds could think of managing. "That seems the most likely explanation," Walter agreed. "What do you plan to do with this knowledge?"

"Nothing," Robin said simply, surprising Walter. "I've got too much on my plate to be trying to track down my past, especially if it's tied up with the Grimleal. Rumor has it that the King Regnant that's supposed to be replacing Mustafa is Grimleal, and the last thing I want to do is start another war over my past."

"How is Mustafa doing?" Walter asked. He occasionally felt a spike of curiosity when he got to thinking about the Plegian general, but never got around to writing a letter or investigating further. "I know he was named King Regnant after the war, but little else. My own focus has been on restructuring the Army, leaving little time to worry about the state of Plegia."

"And dumping cow slop on members of the Council," Robin said with a grin, causing Walter to snort in amusement. "But apparently Mustafa's doing as well, or at least as well as a soldier who recently lost his wife and child could be when thrust into politics. He and Chrom have been writing each other fairly regularly. Mustafa's been making a lot of reforms, but the Plegian Emirs wanted his head on a pike within a month of him assuming the Throne." Robin and Walter both got a chuckle out of that. "I can't speak for the new prospective King Regnant, but Mustafa would be good for them if he stayed."

"I hope he finds peace," Walter said somberly as their laughter dried up. "I've lost my own wife, and likely my child as well. I can empathize with his pain."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Robin said sympathetically. "You have my condolences. So, this might be a bit invasive of a question, but do you think your son is still alive?"

Walter sighed. "All logic dictates he isn't," Walter admitted, "but my heart says otherwise. I believe, or at the very least hope, he still lives."

"It's always good to have hope," Robin said with a smile. "Who knows? He may very well be alive, and end up here in Ylisse."

Walter chuckled ruefully at that. "I rather doubt it, Robin, but thank you."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Robin said with a grin, before looking up and frowning. Walter followed his gaze, and saw Phila and Cordelia flying back with all speed. "Looks like we've got trouble," he said grimly.

 **AN:**

 **Lol realized ¾ of the way through the chapter that I had forgotten entirely about Erinys. Whoops. Instead of rewriting the entire thing, I just changed the direction it was heading in. Lmao I'm a dumbass.**


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

 **The Secret Seller**

"Phila, Cordelia, fly ahead and warn the village!" Walter barked. "Robin, form up the Shepherds! Forward, for the glory of Ylisse!"

"For Ylisse!" the others cried, before Robin stepped forward. "Sully, Stahl and Gaius, move ahead and flank those archers! Walter and Donnel, engage the spearmen and axemen trying to cross that bridge to the south! Libra, Olivia, you're with me; we're going after the swordsmen to the east! Virion and Tharja, engage at your own discretion! Once you've eliminated your targets, rendezvous at the village gates! Let's move!" With a shout, the Shepherds quickly took off toward the enemy. Olivia looked rather hesitant, but quickly steeled herself and followed her betrothed and the tactician into the fray.

Phila and Cordelia had flown back hastily and informed them that one of Walter's own villages was under attack, by the same bandits they hunted. Walter had grown furious then, and demanded they be put to the sword. Nobody else had even thought of arguing, and they'd marched double-time to the nameless little village in question. It was nestled into the corner of two intersecting rivers, next to a small mountain that was really more of a steep hill. The ground was covered in snow, being the dead of winter, and the woodlands were thick here. They'd arrived to see well over two dozen bandits making their way toward the village. Walter prayed for the villagers' safety as he and Donnel charged at the fifteen or so men in front of them from out of the trees.

"This is the Lord's will!" Walter roared at the surprised bandits, before ramming into one of them shield-first and swinging his mace at another, who hastily brought his buckler up to block it. His arm broke from the sheer force of Walter's blow, however, and he was quickly dispatched as he dropped his weapon and clutched his shield arm in agony.

"Yeeeeehaaaaaawwww!" Donnel shouted uproariously as he launched a leaping strike against one of the axemen, cutting him down without a fight. He then sheathed his sword and drew his war axe almost faster than Walter could track, and launched himself at his next opponent, a spearman this time. Two arrows sailed past Walter, hitting the two men in front of him squarely in the forehead, giving him a brief reprieve; Virion's work was as impeccable as ever. Walter spared a quick glance back toward the village to see how the others fared; Robin, Libra, and Olivia were holding their own, the cavalry and Gaius were now breaking off to join Phila and Cordelia at Robin's command, Cordelia was removing her lance from a bandit's chest, and Phila was… _By God,_ Walter thought in shock. Phila was a virtual storm of destruction atop Erinys, thrusting her heavy steel lance so swiftly and easily that Walter could scarcely track it. She was surrounded by the bandits, at least eight of them, causing Walter to worry for her safety briefly, but with a flurry of thrusts and swipes, three of them fell to the ground, missing limbs from the sheer force of her lance swipes or holding deep puncture wounds to their torsos. Erinys moved the pair about like water, easily evading the attempted counterattacks, before taking the pair off into the air, where Phila promptly turned them about and dove back into the fray, skewering two of her assailants at once. Walter had thought her a fine soldier on foot, but when mounted she was a force of nature. _I guess she really is rubbish on foot, relatively speaking,_ Walter thought as his chest swelled with pride and affection.

Walter was quickly brought back to reality as an axe crashed down against his pauldron, bruising his flesh and eliciting a cry of pain from Walter, even through the heavy steel plate. He leapt back and turned to see his opponent, and his brow furrowed in anger; this was clearly one of the twins. He wore armor not unlike Mustafa's which only made Walter angrier that he would so resemble a man he respected, and his slick black hair was neatly trimmed and combed, giving the bandit an almost mocking air of nobility as he twirled his axe absently.

"Give up now," the bandit said in a surprisingly refined manner that only served to fuel Walter's anger. "I was born a Victor, and victory will be mine!"

 _So, this is Victor,_ Walter thought as he growled and leveled his mace. "I am Sir Walter of House Lennart, Grand General of the Ylissean Army and Duke of Nordenheim! Your life ends now!"

"I think not, 'Duke'," Victor snorted mockingly. "I'll have your head, sell your fancy armor, and build Vincent the finest home in all the land!" With that, he snarled and leapt forward, bringing his enormous battle axe down toward Walter. He sidestepped the heavy, slow weapon easily and swung his mace horizontally. Victor leapt back, grinning madly, before launching a flurry of strikes against Walter. Walter dodged or blocked all of them, but the superior reach of Victor's weapon was forcing him out of his own effective weapon range. His one or two attempts at a spell were quickly cut off by Victor leaping forward, viciously chopping with his axe to interrupt him.

"Just give up!" Victor shouted gleefully. "Some blueblood like you can't win against me! I'm going to kill you, capture the girl, sell her, and live like a King!" _What girl is he talking about?_ Walter wondered.

"Careful, love," a cheerful, feminine voice said, before a sword erupted from Victor's abdomen. "We traders are known to make some very deep cuts." Victor's reply was a strangled gurgle, before falling to the ground, dead before he even touched the snow. Around them, the bandits dropped their weapons or fled. A couple of bandits still fought on, but Donnel was on them like a pig in slop, and made short work of them.

Walter looked to see who had finished Victor off, and was surprised to see a short, flame-haired woman wearing an equally red traveling outfit, looking at him and smiling cheerily. "Hello handsome!" she greeted. "Thanks for distracting him! I'm Anna, also known as the Secret Seller. The next time we run into each other, I'll make sure to give you an extra-special deal!"

Walter raised his eyebrow. "You're a merchant? Courageous of you, to step in between bandits and their targets."

"I do love that rush you get from doing the right thing," Anna answered jovially, "but more importantly, this village is a really important stop on my trade route! The inn's really good, and more importantly, really cheap. There's also no other resting point between here and the Longfort, and as much as I love camping, I prefer a warm bed."

 _Of course the merchant is worried about money,_ Walter thought wryly. "Regardless, it was a brave thing you did," he said aloud. "I am the new ruler of this Duchy, and you've helped save one of my villages. If you have need of a favor in the future, you have but to ask."

"I appreciate it!" Anna replied. "I'll give it some thought. Until then, tootle-oo! May the gods of the open road keep you." With that, she spun on her heel and practically skipped away.

"Well, ain't that the darnednest thing?" Donnel said as the merchant disappeared into the trees. "Wouldn't reckon a merchant'd just jump inta somethin' like that."

"The world is full of surprises," Walter said with a grin. "You did well today, Donnel," he complimented. In the short time he'd been fighting Victor, Donnel had dispatched most of the other bandits single-handedly; only four or five sported arrow wounds.

"Aw, shucks, Sir Walter," Donnel said bashfully, "Just doin' my best."

"Your best is better than most," Walter replied, clapping his hand on the boy's shoulder proudly. "You're a fine soldier. Your mother will be very proud of you. Let's go regroup with the others." Beaming, Donnel followed Walter back toward the village, where the Shepherds were gathering in front of the village gates, the obvious elder of the village speaking to them.

"Walter!" Robin shouted worriedly as he approached. "Did you happen to see a young, redheaded woman about? She was fending off the bandits before we arrived, but slipped away when Phila and Cordelia arrived. The villagers wanted to thank her."

"Yes, we encountered her," Walter answered. "She slew the bandit leader before leaving. For a merchant, she was quite quick with that blade." As Robin and the village elder sighed in relief, Walter turned to the latter. "Send a message to Nordenheim, to a man named Seth. Tell him that the Duke is ordering a contingent of guards to be deployed to this village, and to increase patrols in the area. There's still the other twin scurrying about, and I will not leave my villages defenseless."

The old man's eyes widened and his hand tightened on the ornate staff he was carrying. "You're the new Duke, then?" he asked in awe. Walter nodded. "Thank the gods for ye! Here, take this for your troubles, milord!" he said, raising the staff. Walter could tell it was of extremely high quality, and became hesitant. "Oh, come now, milord!" the man said insistently, "Ain't a healer in this village anymore since my beloved was killed by those damned bandits last winter, we ain't got not use for this anymore! Anabelle would be honored that her staff be given to the men who avenged her. Take it, I insist!"

Walter hesitated a second longer, before sighing and accepting the gift. "Thank you," he said humbly. "It will not go to waste."

"I'm sure it won't, milord," the elder responded kindly. "You are returning to Nordenheim now?"

"No," Robin answered, and the pair turned to him. "When their leader was slain, the bandits fled, doubtlessly back to their lair. Cordelia and Stahl are tracking them now. We need to strike while the iron is hot, before Vincent can regroup and take revenge."

"I agree," Walter said. "Shepherds, we move out for Vincent's hideout when Cordelia and Stahl return!"

"Please, you're welcome to rooms in the inn, free of charge!" One of the villagers called from within the gates of the village. "It'll take some time yet, I think, come on in out of the cold!"

Robin and Walter shot each other a look and a shrug, before following the elder into the village.

000

"This is the place?" Walter whispered from the bushes they were hiding in.

"Yes," Cordelia answered, dismounted and hiding next to him. "The bandits fled here.

Three days had passed since they'd killed Victor and saved the village, and Cordelia and Stahl had located the bandits' lair. They were now in the woods just north of the Longfort, near the ruins of an old fort. Walter assumed it was part of the border defense long before the Longfort was ever built; the ruins were positively ancient, and the stonework worn away by the decay of time. The ruins were mostly empty at the moment; just the leader, Vincent, and a few bandits remained. Stahl had reported that the majority had left maybe a day before they arrived, and Walter and Robin had agreed to wait until the majority of them returned before they launched their attack. The bandits, with Victor being the exception, had proven to be poor fighters, so neither of them was worried about being overwhelmed, and they wanted to ensure this gang was put down here and now.

The Shepherds were currently staked out in the woods, surrounding the ruins from the east and west. Walter was hiding with Cordelia, Stahl, Donnel, Sully, and Phila; he was overseeing the assault from the west, where the forest was thicker but farther away from the ruins themselves; that was why all of the most mobile members of the team were with him. They would be able to cross the distance faster.

"'ere they come Sir Walter," Donnel whispered urgently, gesturing back toward the road at the south end of the fort. Sure enough, the remaining couple dozen bandits were returning now. Walter frowned, however, when he saw what the two in the front were carrying.

"They've captured Anna," Walter growled.

"That's the merchant from the village?" Phila asked, and Walter nodded, not taking his eyes off of the girl. "How do you think they caught her?"

"I don't know," Walter stated shortly, "Why don't we go find out?"

"Wait!" Stahl hissed. "Vincent is coming out!" Walter turned back to the ruins of the fort, where surely enough Vincent, the spitting image of Victor, was storming out of the front gates of the dilapidated fort. Walter growled as Vincent walked straight up to Anna and slapped her hard enough for the impact to be heard from their position.

"We have business, you and I," Vincent roared, "and I aim to settle the debt! A life for a life! Victor will be avenged today!" Walter gestured to the others, and they climbed atop their mounts.

"I'm…sorry?" Anna asked, apparently bewildered by the accusation. "Have we met before?" Walter cursed again as Vincent slapped her again, even harder this time, as he mounted Erinys behind Phila (much to the pegasus' chagrin, but Phila soothed her quickly).

"Your sword, Donnel," Walter whispered as the boy passed, holding out his hand. Donnel obliged, drawing his blade and handing it to Walter with a confused look.

"Playing dumb won't save you, cunt," Vincent snarled, grabbing Anna by the throat and hauling her out of her two captor's arms, lifting her up in the air by the neck. "The gold you fetch from the slavers will build Victor the finest grave in all the land!"

Phila took off then, and Vincent's tirade was interrupted as spells erupted in the back the bandits ranks; Tharja's work, judging from the black flames that were now consuming several of them. The bandits immediately broke formation and ran for cover, Robin's group popping out of the woods to pursue them

"This is the Lord's will!" Walter cried as they cleared the treetops, casting his own spells toward the back of the enemy so as to not hit Anna. Vincent yelped in surprise as one bolt of lightning just barely missed him, and finally dropped her. The swift merchant then immediately bolted for her saviors, though limping heavily on one leg.

"Oh, no you don't!" Vincent snarled, before taking off after her. Phila immediately angled toward the pair as Vincent began gaining on her. They were almost there when an archer targeted them, and Phila was forced to pull up to avoid the arrow. Walter quickly came up with a rather foolhardy plan.

"Anna!" Walter shouted, before throwing the sword down the path shortly in front of her. The blade stuck into the snow hilt up, but Walter wasn't paying attention anymore. As Phila shouted his name in fear, Walter leapt from the pegasus, about thirty feet above the ground.

Vincent was so focused on Anna that he was completely unprepared to be hit by hundreds of pounds of flying steel and flesh. Walter collided chest-first with the bandit leader, and they crashed to the ground, both letting out cries of pain. Something in Walter's left shoulder went horribly out of place as he landed, and he could hear the snap and accompanying cry of pain as Vincent's leg broke from Walter landing on it.

Walter quickly rolled off of the disoriented and pain-ridden bandit leader, quickly stumbling to his feet and drawing his mace. His left shoulder was throbbing in agony; he had dislocated it. His shield arm would be useless in this fight. Vincent, however, still managed to stand, though obviously favoring his only healthy leg.

"Who the hell are you?" Vincent snapped. "I've got business with that little harlot; now get out of my way!"

"I am the Duke of Nordenheim!" Walter responded. "I was the one responsible for the death of Victor. The merchant is not your quarry, I am."

"Is that right?" Vincent said, grimacing in pain, before drinking what Walter recognized as a healing elixir. Rare, expensive, powerful, and likely ill-gotten. A second later, the empty bottle was thrown to the ground, and Vincent's leg was healed. "Well then, Your Lordliness, I guess I'll just have to kill you instead!" With that, he leapt forward, bringing his axe to bear with frightening speed. Walter just barely managed to evade the blow, wishing sorely that he hadn't dislocated his shield arm.

Walter quickly found himself stuck on the defensive; Vincent was clearly the stronger of the two brothers, and faster to boot. It was all Walter could do in his injured state to avoid the deadly axe as Vincent hacked away at him. More than once Walter found himself forced to use his shield arm anyway, crying out in pain as the shock from the blows sent waves of agony up his arm.

"I am a conqueror by name and a conqueror by nature!" he boasted as Walter scurried away from his onslaught. "You never had a chance!" he continued as he cornered Walter against the wall of the fort, the paladin breathing heavily.

"Careful love," a sickly sweet woman's voice said before a sword delved into his ribcage from the side, "prices aren't the only thing I can cut in half." Vincent cried out in pain as the sword dug in further, before it was ripped violently out through his back, quite nearly bisecting him. Vincent gave an unintelligible curse, before slumping down to the snow, dead.

Walter laughed tiredly as Anna cleaned the sword off on Vincent's cloak, before turning to him. "That's…funny," he chuckled breathlessly as Anna shot him a curious look. Walter noticed the last of the bandits being run down and killed by the others and opted to relax a bit, sheathing his mace.

"What, that little one liner? I spent a lot of time working on it, I'm glad to know it's funny to other people too," she said cheerily. "Thanks for distracting him, handsome. I'm Anna, some folks like to call me the Secret Seller."

Walter laughed again, and Anna's gaze turned even more curious. "No," he clarified. "I remember you from before. You killed Victor just like that too," he said, gesturing to the cooling corpse of the second twin. "It's almost…poetic."

"What, first these bandits think I killed one of their buddies, now you do as well?" Anna sighed. "Wait, you said you remembered me…you must have met one of my sisters. That also explains why these bandits kidnapped me too, if one of my sisters killed their friend. I bet I know which one it was too! I keep telling Anna not to stick her nose into things like that," she sighed in exasperation.

"You…you have a sister?" Walter asked. "You look identical."

"Yep!" Anna replied happily. "There's a strong family resemblance. And we're all traveling merchants too!"

"…with the same name?" Walter asked, nonplussed. Anna nodded happily. "Good Lord, your family gatherings must be chaotic."

"Aren't everyone's?" Anna responded amusedly. "But I can't just send you on your way after helping two members of the Anna clan! Why don't I-?"

"Walter!" came Phila's voice, shortly before the flapping of wings, clopping of hooves, and a comparatively light weight barreling into him from the side cut the conversation short. Phila had dismounted and latched onto him. He gently patted her back with his good arm, chuckling softly. "You foolhardy, insane man!" she roared as she let go and punched him straight in his wounded shoulder, causing him to yelp. "What were you thinking, leaping from that height!? You could have gotten killed!"

"But I wasn't," Walter corrected with a smug grin, earning himself another punch to his wounded arm. He cried out in pain and nearly fell over. "I suppose I deserve that," he sighed as Phila harrumphed and strode over to the now clearly amused Erinys, fishing for the staff they'd gotten at the village and grumbling about how all men were idiots.

"Aww, is that your wife?" Anna asked sweetly as Walter sat down with his back against the walls of the ruined fort. "You two are so adorable! But as I was saying, why not take me with you?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Walter asked, bemused. "Take you where?"

"I dunno, wherever your little mercenary group goes?" Anna replied. "I can be quite useful. I can fight, use a staff, and even pick locks!"

"A thief, then?" Walter responded. "Our group already has one," he said, gesturing to where Gaius was currently patting down the corpses of the bandits for extra gold…or more likely sweets in the thief's case.

"A locksmith, I'll have you know!" Anna cried indignantly, before her faced turned cheerful again. "Come on, what do you say, handsome? You'll never make a loss with me in tow, I guarantee it!"

Walter thought about it briefly, and was about to accept, when he heard some strange growling noise; glancing toward the source, he saw Phila glaring at Anna with the utmost loathing. "You may come along," he answered, and Phila's heated glare turned to him, and Walter suddenly felt quite warm, despite it being the middle of January. "Just…no cutesy nicknames," he sighed.

"It's a deal!" Anna cried happily, seizing Walter's uninjured hand and shaking it vigorously. "Now, I'm betting these bandits had quite the hoard built up, so I'm gonna go see about picking some locks. Be back in a trice!" Before Walter could say yes or no, the young redhead was gone, bolting into the doors of the now abandoned fort.

"Do we _really_ have to bring her?" Phila asked distastefully as she walked over to Walter, staff in hand.

"We do not have to, but having another…'locksmith' will come in handy," Walter replied, and Phila huffed. "Her technical skills aside, she _is_ a merchant. Robin could make use of her talents in planning the reconstruction effort."

"Does that mean she'll be going to Ylisstol?" Phila asked hopefully as she set down the staff and grabbed hold of Walter's arm, preparing to set it.

"Are you jealous, Phila?" Walter asked teasingly, before crying out in pain as his bone was reintroduced to the socket quite abruptly and without warning.

"Not at all," Phila replied stiffly as she lifted the staff.

"Well, that's good then," Walter said, his voice strained, as she began channeling her magic. "I mean, why would you be jealous when you're the most beautiful woman on earth?"

"Flatterer," Phila scoffed, trying desperately to hide her smile. She could do nothing about how red her face was turning, however. "There, finished," she said, before helping Walter to his feet by his now-healed arm. "Do try not to jump off of a pegasus again, dear."

"I will endeavor not to," Walter replied, before giving her a brief embrace. "The experience was less than pleasant. Come, let's find the others and inform them that we have a new member."

"Let's hope she doesn't call Gaius 'handsome'," Phila said with a laugh, "or Tharja will have a new test subject." Walter just chuckled as they regrouped with the others.

 _One problem down, one to go,_ Walter thought to himself soberly. _After these animal traffickers are taken care of, we can finally involve ourselves fully in the business of peace._

 **AN:**

 **Lol why the fuck did they have Victor and Vincent in the ass end of Regna Ferox anyway? Like I get the world map isn't that big, but come the fuck on. Like the Shepherds have absolutely no reason to be going all the fucking way up there, especially by the time Vincent's paralogue comes up. And the intros to the levels made it seem like they just stumbled upon the villages on their way to whatever they're doing in Plegia/Valm too, which makes even less sense. So, yeah, we're changing that. And also I figured I'd let Walter get his ass kicked for once. Guy's rusty, the bandits have been operating for over a year, and Walter's been kicking a little too much ass so far, excluding getting thrashed by Gerald in the Coliseum. He's a veteran and Kendal praised him as "the greatest warrior he's ever met" or some such, but nobody is unstoppable. Especially when they're a dumbass who forgot that gravity is a thing that exists.**


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56**

 **The Eye of the Storm**

"Duke Lennart, I welcome you into my humble home," Countess Claive greeted warmly a few days later. "Please, come in out of this atrocious blizzard. Your companions are welcome as well."

"Thank you," Walter said gratefully as he followed the young Countess into her relatively modest manor and out of the raging storm outside. Countess Tara Claive, ruler of Pinebrook County and one of Walter's new vassals, was a woman of an age with the average Shepherd, with pale blonde hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin. Walter thought she was quite beautiful, truth be told, and resolved to keep Virion far, far away from her.

"Oh, Lord Virion!" she exclaimed, flushing deeply. _Apparently I'm too late,_ Walter sighed as the "archest of archers" strode into the manner at the tail end of the group, grinning widely. "It is so wonderful to see you again!"

"Ze sentiment is quite mutual my dear, I assure you," Virion said suavely, "and I would love to catch up on all on your affairs, but alas, I am here on business with ze Shepherds."

"Yes, _that_ business," Claive said thunderously, before turning to Walter. "Milord, I cannot thank you enough for coming. I have dearly wished for these damnable smugglers to be evicted from my county, but Duke Vyland allowed them free reign as long as they paid 'fees'," she explained with disgust.

"They will not be here for much longer, I assure you," Walter said with conviction.

"Countess," Robin spoke up, "I'm Robin, the-"

Countess Claive cut him off with a gasp. "King Chrom has dispatched the famous tactician Robin himself to dispose of these ruffians? I am truly blessed."

"I'm…famous?" Robin wondered in bewilderment as the others laughed at his expression. "Okay then…anyway, I'm the tactician for the Shepherds, as you apparently already know, so I'm going to need a map of the county, and anything you have on the smugglers."

"But of course," Claive said enthusiastically. "Please, come this way. Milord, I would ask that you come as well, I am well aware that you are quite the capable strategist yourself. The rest of you, please wait here, servants will be along momentarily to collect your coats and lead you to the sitting room to dry off." With one last trailing look at Virion, she led the pair away from the others.

"So, what kind of situation are we looking at, Countess?" Robin asked as she led them into what was obviously her study.

"Unfortunately, I have had quite a good amount of time to gather information on them," Claive muttered sourly as she reached into a drawer of her desk and dropped a rather large sheaf of parchment onto the table. "The short version is that there are a few dozen of them, they are holed up in a warehouse on the east side of town, and they're a bunch of ruffians who threaten the townsfolk. Were it not for Duke Vyland's corruption, I'd have ordered the guard to drive them out over a year ago."

"Vyland let this go on for that long?" Walter muttered as he skimmed through the reports.

"Yes, he told me he 'required additional income' and did not wish to overtax the citizenry, and so allowing the smugglers to run amok was acceptable," Claive explained hotly. "It's likely he used his ill-gotten gains to fund his ill-conceived rebellion. I am truly thankful that you stopped that rebellion before it spilled over into Nordenheim, milord, our people would not have deserved to suffer for his idiocy." She then gasped, and put a hand over her mouth. "Forgive me, milord," she said abashedly. "That was improper, I went beyond myself."

"You will find very quickly that I will not punish my vassals for speaking out of turn," Walter replied, looking the woman in the eyes. "Not if they have the right of it. Vyland was a fool and a traitor, and deserves any scorn he receives."

Claive's face shifted to relief. "Thank you, milord," she sighed. "Duke Vyland became quite unpopular over the past few years for allowing corruption to go unfettered. I am pleased to see his successor doesn't share that failing."

"This looks simple enough," Robin stated as he burned through the reports at a speed Walter could only envy. "They're numerous, but by all indications aren't really prepared for combat. They're run-of-the-mill smugglers, not brigands. They don't even appear to have patrols around their warehouse…I'll have Gaius scout it out to be safe, but this mission should be as simple as charging in from the front and capturing or killing their leader."

"I'll have the Guard mobilized immediately," Claive said.

"We'll probably hold them in reserve," Robin stated as he set the reports down. "The buildings form a lot of natural chokepoints in the area of the warehouse; it will get too congested if we have dozens of guards trying to maneuver in there as well. We'll be tripping over each other more than anything else. Have them form a perimeter around the district and stay on standby; they can secure the warehouse and sweep for stragglers after we've dealt with the majority of the smugglers."

"Sir Robin," Claive said uneasily, "there are well over four dozen of them, and less than a dozen of you. Those odds are…not favorable."

Robin just grinned. "I know," he replied smugly, "they won't know what hit them."

000

"Damn it all," Robin cursed quietly as he ducked back behind the corner of the building they were hiding behind. "I think they know we're coming. They've got patrols out now."

"Our march into town wasn't exactly subtle," Walter reminded him just as quietly, absently cursing the fact that he wasn't wearing a cloak to fend off the blizzard raging around them.

"Unfortunately, this complicates our plans," Robin said. "We need to at least reach the warehouse before we're detected, but they've got sentries everywhere. I don't even think Phila and Cordelia would be able to slip past them in the air."

The warehouse in question, a suitably run-down old building, was at the center of a large, wide open area which was undoubtedly used to ferry cargo back when the warehouse was used for legitimate business. The square was surrounded on all sides by other buildings, which the other Shepherds were currently hiding behind for cover. Unfortunately, there were at least two guards for each of the Shepherds patrolling the open space, all carrying torches and looking quite alert, despite the late hour. Gaius might be able to slip past them without raising an alarm, but the others were ill-prepared for stealth on that level.

"Maybe we had a way to obscure their vision…" Robin said contemplatively, cupping his chin in thought.

Walter thought about it himself, before looking at the snow on the ground gave him an idea. "Stand back," he warned, before stepping out into the open as the guards passed by. Robin quietly tried to get him to come back, but Walter was already in the middle of casting a spell. He channeled his mana and shot a burst of it into the sky, praying that none of the guards saw the spell go off. Within seconds, the already howling winds began raging in intensity, picking the already thick layer of snow off of the ground and tossing it about. The guards exclaimed in surprise at the sudden surge in the severity of the storm. A few seconds later, only the guards' torches were barely visible through the roiling sheets of white.

"Kill them, now!" Walter said as quietly as he could while still being able to be heard over the wind. Without waiting for Robin, he dashed into the storm. The frigid wind bit at the exposed skin of his face, and the plates of his armor quickly chilled to unbearable levels. He pressed on, however, coming up behind the first of the guards silently, the man too preoccupied with sheltering himself from the sudden cold to be watching his back. The man dropped wordlessly, the only sound of his passing a dull thud from Walter's mace, inaudible over the howling blizzard. A second later, Walter heard a dull snap, a short cry of pain, and the sound of steel tearing flesh; Robin had taken care of the other guard. There was a brief cry of pain in the distance, and the sound of a single clash of steel, but otherwise all Walter could hear was the raging winds.

Walter quickly found Robin, grabbed his arm, and pulled him out of the storm back to their hiding space. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually the winds died down from cataclysmic proportions to a "regular" blizzard. His vision cleared just in time to see the last of the guards fall to the ground, an arrow piercing his forehead.

"Well, that was effective," Robin said through chattering teeth, igniting a fire spell in his hand and quickly huddling himself over it to regain what little warmth he'd managed to preserve before the blizzard kicked up. "Next time, though, I'm not running into it."

"The guards are taken care of," Walter stated. "Let's regroup and launch the assault proper." Reluctantly, Robin dispelled his flame, and followed Walter out into the square, where the rest of the Shepherds were now regrouping.

"More Bersian magic?" Stahl asked dryly as he brushed some ice off of his breastplate.

"Yes, that was the highest level ice spell known in Bersia," Walter supplied. "I cast it with as little mana as possible; it is normally strong enough to freeze enemies solid on a summer day."

"Can we just get on with it?" Tharja snapped as she shook some snow loose from her cloak. "As interesting as your displays of magical prowess are, I'm freezing to death."

"Yeah, let's get in out of the cold," Robin agreed, shivering violently as they approached the warehouse. "Walter, Donny, breach the doors, charge forward. Phila, Cordelia, dismount and go right. Sully, Stahl you dismount too, go left. Tharja, follow behind Walter and Donny, support them. Virion, do the same for Phila and Cordelia, and remember that you're in Walter's duchy and there's plenty of woods to hide your body in before you start flirting with his betrothed." The others laughed quietly at that, and Virion shot a nervous look to a cruelly grinning Walter. "I'll tag behind Sully and Stahl. Libra, Olivia, hold the exit. Some of them might try to slip by us, so be alert. Gaius, slip past the smugglers, try to find any documents you can about where they got the creatures or where they were supposed to go before they can destroy the evidence." Robin received a chorus of affirmatives in response, and Gaius scampered off, scaling the warehouse walls using a pair of knives, before disappearing from sight. "Alright, whenever you're ready, General," Robin stated with a grin.

The doors to the warehouse burst open with a thunderous explosion, burning debris being thrown inward. Not a half second behind the ruined remains of the door were Walter and Donnel, charging headlong into the room. Walter quickly gave the room a once-over as he charged toward the group of stunned smugglers ahead of them. There were dozens of cages in the dimly lit room, stacked in layers of two, in neat little rows across the interior of the warehouse. Walter noted wyverns, pegasi, some strange creature that looked to be an odd mix between a large cat and a bird of prey, a Storm Rider, more wyverns-

"What!?" Walter roared in rage as he did a double take. Surely enough, a Storm Rider, the great eagles of northern Bersia, sat in a cage entirely too small for it. It was a bit larger than the wyverns it was stored next to, and it gazed at the new intruders in alarm, before its expression unmistakably became infuriated at the presence of even more humans. He was not given time to question the presence of a Storm Rider, however; Donnel had charged ahead and engaged the smugglers, who were still reeling from the explosion. Upon seeing the humans attack each other, the captive creatures began roaring in excitement.

Walter turned to the smugglers as they finally began to marshal some form of defense, snarling in rage. "Face the Lord's judgment!" he roared furiously, sending a trio of lightning bolts into the back of the smugglers' ranks. All three of his targets died immediately. Without further delay he crashed into the press, swinging his weapon furiously at anything that wasn't Donnel. The smugglers, more accustomed to dealing with irate beasts than irate humans, stood no chance. Between Walter's mace, Donnel's sword, and Tharja's devastating spellcraft, the smugglers were quickly ground under heel. The last of the smugglers in their section of the warehouse fell to Walter, who put the injured man out of his misery with an armored boot to his throat. He heard several explosions in the distance, and the sound of a wyvern roaring in triumph, but paid little attention to it for now.

Without even checking on the others, he strode over to the Storm Rider's cage, gazing at it stoically. The Storm Rider glared right back at him, before letting out an ear-splitting screech. As Walter rubbed his ears to get some hearing back, his mind turned over on itself for an explanation. He had thought that maybe there would be smugglers from Bersia to Ylisse, sure. That was a given with any trade route. But Duchess Grant had been quite concerned about animal trading from Bersia after reading his report, and had been almost excessively overzealous about ensuring it didn't happen, even giving her customs officers the power to arrest traders immediately without warrant if any animal larger than a horse was brought through the Outrealm Gate, and to outright execute anyone who didn't allow them to search their cargo. He was confident that a Storm Rider, of all things, would never have made it past her diligence. So how did this one get here?

"Right side is clear, General," Phila said behind him. He did not turn around, however; in fact he hardly even heard her. "Gaius said he's found…gods above, what is _that_?" She said in shock as she beheld what Walter was staring at.

"A Storm Rider," Walter growled angrily. "A large bird of prey native to the Pineth Mountains in Bersia."

"'Large is an understatement," Phila said nervously, "this creature is larger than a wyvern!"

"Yes, it is," Walter ground out, "which is why I would very much like to know how it managed to get snuck past Duchess Grant's customs officers."

"Cause it didn't come through Port Grant, Old Timer," Gaius said from his right. Walter finally tore his gaze from the Storm Rider, which was now eyeing the three of them critically, and handed him a sheaf of parchment. "These amateurs didn't burn their shipping manifests. The load this bird came in on was from Valm."

"Valm?" Walter asked as he read through the documents. Surely enough, Gaius' summary was right. "Isn't that the continent across the Long Sea to the west?"

"Yes, it is," Phila answered. "But how did this creature find its way to Valm? And then to Ylisse?"

"I don't know," Walter said quietly as he turned back to the Storm Rider. It had seemingly grown bored of them now, and was gazing with only mild interest at the other Shepherds as they regrouped. The fighting had come to a close. Walter turned around, to ask Robin's opinion of the matter, but was alarmed when Sully and Stahl returned without him.

"Where's Robin?" Walter asked worriedly, stepping away from the Storm Rider's cage.

"Oh, he's fine," Sully said, rolling her eyes. "He's with his new best friend out back."

"He's…what?" Walter asked, completely nonplussed.

"It's easier to see for yourself," Stahl sighed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, back the way they'd came. "He's fine, though. Well, maybe a bit mental, but he's physically unharmed."

Walter shot the pair a sideways glance, but walked down the designated lane. When he drew closer to one of the alleys in between the cages, he heard some quiet mumbling. Figuring that that's where Robin was, he turned down the aisle, and was utterly dumbstruck by the sight in front of him.

Robin was currently latched onto a wyvern's head, giving it a loving hug, and quite obviously baby-talking to it. The sight was so ridiculous that Walter almost didn't react fast enough to stop the wyvern's flame breath from roasting him alive.

"No boy!" Robin cried, trying futilely to pull the wyvern's head away from Walter as the paladin dove to the side. "He's a friend!" The wyvern growled a bit, but did not shoot anymore fire at Walter, and the paladin hesitantly approached.

"Robin…what are you doing?" Walter asked quietly.

"I accidentally shot the lock off this wyvern's cage during the fighting while I was aiming for the smugglers' leader," Robin explained. "He repaid the favor by…well, you don't want to know what he did to the guy when he was about to kill me, but suffice it to say that it settled the debt. Isn't he just the greatest?" Robin asked cheerfully, stroking the wyvern's long, scaled snout affectionately.

"You didn't take a blow to the head, did you?" Walter deadpanned as the tactician went back to baby-talking a giant, fire breathing lizard.

"Nope," Robin responded cheerily, scratching a spot behind the wyvern's jaw. Its tail began thumping the ground, almost like a dog's leg when scratched, and Walter tried to restrain his laughter at the sheer ludicrousness of it. "I've always thought wyverns were awesome. Then this one goes and saves me, the champion," he said affectionately, and the wyvern gave a sound that Walter could only describe as "cooing", though it sounded more like a high pitched growl than anything. "I think I'm gonna keep him."

Walter did a double take. "You're going to…Robin, this isn't a stray dog!" Walter barked. "This is a giant, fire breathing, man-eating wyvern!"

"Hey, he's only eaten one man, and it was in self-defense!" Robin protested, and the wyvern shot him a glare of utmost loathing. "Don't let him get you down, big guy, he's always been grumpy." He turned back to Walter. "Come on, I can't take him without your permission, he's technically evidence in a criminal investigation. Pleeeeeeease?" he asked, doing his best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

"Oh, for the love of…" Walter groaned, rolling his eyes. "Fine. You can have him. But you get to be the one to explain to the Prince how you left to deal with criminals and came back with a pet wyvern. He's your problem now. Don't let him destroy anything or eat anyone in my duchy."

"Sweet!" Robin shouted, and the wyvern gave an eardrum-shattering roar of happiness. "Ow," Robin said loudly, shaking his head, and the wyvern snorted in amusement. "I'll have to see Miriel about getting something to dampen the sound of these roars…but yeah, we're best friends now!" he told the wyvern, "You're gonna need a name…how about Dean?" he asked. The wyvern looked at him quizzically. "He's a famous warrior from across the sea," Robin clarified. "He rode a wyvern into battle. I think it's a great name!" The wyvern, "Dean" now, apparently, roared in agreement. "Ach! Maybe no roaring right next to my head!" Robin moaned piteously.

Walter shook his head and turned away as Robin continued coddling a beast that could easily eat him alive. He regrouped with the others, and gave them a brief overview of the…situation.

"He's…adopting a wyvern?" Phila asked incredulously. "The lad is out of his mind!"

"That's a common trend with Ylisseans, I've noticed," Walter responded cheekily, causing Phila to shove him playfully.

"Another bloody wyvern," Virion sighed dejectedly, all of his normal bearing and poise forgotten. "I'd dearly hoped to escape ze nasty creatures when I left home."

"You knew another wyvern rider?" Walter asked.

"Yes, but zat is a story for another time," Virion said in a tone that made it clear he was unwilling to discuss the matter at all, let alone at another time.

"Well, our aerial forces are still rather depleted," Cordelia stated thoughtfully. "We've never worked with wyverns before, but I'm sure Robin will be able to come up with some way to work them into our formations. I'll have a talk with him later about it, and teach him how to fly while I'm at it."

"Can we get out of this foul smelling warehouse already?" Tharja spoke up in annoyance, clutching her cloak tightly to herself. "We can deal with the lizard later, I'm freezing to death!"

"Agreed," Walter stated. "We can discuss this somewhere warmer. Somebody go retrieve Robin and…Dean. Stahl, inform the town guard that the warehouse is ready to be secured. The rest of us are returning to Claive Manor."

 **AN:**

 **Wyvern Lords are my favorite unit in the entire series. Why? Because they're riding fucking wyverns, and I need no other reason. But it gives me those reasons, by making them a faster General with higher Mov. Like Archers can do fuck all to them with their high defense, and if you're putting your Wyvern Lords near mages at all, you're a dumbass, so the wind vulnerability doesn't bother me. I always reclass Robin to Wyvern Lord during the Valm Arc. But since this is MY butchery of the game's story, I'm going to make him a Malig Knight that uses lances and swords, and you can do fuck all to stop me. BWAHAHAHAHAAA!**


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

 **The Diary of Exalt Bertrand**

"Milord, you've received a letter from His Majesty," Seth announced as he walked into Walter's study a few weeks later. Walter and Phila both looked up from their respective desks curiously, and Seth walked over and handed Walter the letter.

"Probably inquiring as to why Robin showed up with a wyvern, no doubt," Walter chuckled as he opened the letter, sealed with the Brand of the Exalt in wax. Phila quickly stood up and walked over to him, bending over his shoulder to read. His initial guess was quickly proven wrong, however, as he read through it.

 _General,_

 _I have finished reading through my father's diary. The revelations in it are too complicated to be easily passed through a letter, but Sumia is insistent that I inform you of its contents; she does not wish for me to leave the rest of the Shepherds in the dark again. I'm inclined to agree, honestly. Leaving most of the Shepherds out of the loop about Thorne's conspiracy left an unpleasant taste in my mouth, regardless of how necessary Robin thought it was. To that effect, I am formally requesting your presence to discuss matters of great import to the security of the halidom; you are to report to the capital as soon as possible. In the event that the task I'm about to give you interferes with your duties as General, which it likely will, I will be assigning Robin to your responsibilities. Now that the merchant Anna has relieved him of most of his economic duties and he finds himself with an excess of free time, he spends nearly all of his time fussing over "Dean", and I can only listen to him wax eloquent about his bloody wyvern for so many hours in a day._

 _Signed, King Chrom I, sovereign of Ylisse_

Walter's mouth was drawn in a thin line as he finished the letter. "Just when I thought things would be more peaceful," Walter sighed. "There is truly no rest for the wicked, it seems."

"I find myself paradoxically eager and reluctant to know what the King is talking about," Phila said uneasily. "I find it odd that he would petition your aid specifically. Surely he has any of the other Shepherds he can rely on without pulling you away from reorganizing the Army." _And from me,_ was the unspoken addition that Walter knew she wished to add.

"Every time he sets a task to me specifically, it is unpleasant in nature," Walter said somewhat resignedly. "But I will gladly bear such burdens, if it means the other Shepherds will not have to. They are all young yet, free of the scars of necessity, and I would like to preserve that for as long as possible." He placed the letter back in the envelope and threw it in a drawer in his desk, before turning to Seth. "You are in charge of the Duchy until we return," Walter told him as he stood. He'd grown to like the man quite quickly; he was a bit stiff, perhaps, but was surprisingly knowledgeable about the responsibilities of a Duke. _Likely because he actually ran the Duchy while Vyland squandered his wealth on opulence,_ Walter mused.

"We?" Phila asked amusedly. "You're not going to tell me to stay behind and manage your affairs?"

"Would you listen?" Walter asked knowingly. Phila's barely stifled laughter was his answer. "Let's go prepare for the journey. Pack whatever you require for a long excursion; I have a feeling we won't be back here for quite a while."

000

"General, Captain, it's nice to see you both again," Chrom greeted warmly as Walter and Phila walked into the Throne Room several days later. He was alone but for his guards; neither the Princess nor the Queen was present. Even Frederick was absent, to Walter's surprise. "It's just a pity we have to reunite like this, though."

"Straight to business, then?" Walter asked with a hint of amusement.

"Yes," Chrom replied gravely as he stood up. "I fear we don't have a lot of time. These aren't matters to be discussed in the Throne Room. Follow me." The pair then set off through one of the side doors to the Throne Room, ones that led to a staircase that went straight to the Royal Apartments.

"Your letter mentioned that you had finished reading through your father's journal?" Walter prompted as they began climbing the stairs.

"Yeah," Chrom muttered darkly. "It… wasn't pleasant. Most of it is just his ruminations on the First Plegian Crusade, but I've marked the two most important parts for you. It shouldn't take long to read through them."

"What is in Bertrand's journal that has you so disturbed, milord?" Phila asked worriedly.

"Thorne promised an explanation when he gave it to you," Chrom sighed as they reached the top of the staircase, near Chrom's own room. "He certainly delivered on that promise," he stated grimly as he opened the door to his apartment.

It was a cozy, homely little place, surprisingly modest considering that it belonged to the ruler of the halidom. They had arrived in a living room of sorts, with a fine couch and a pair of comfortable looking chairs situated near a crackling fire. Sitting in one of those chairs was Queen Sumia, humming tunelessly to herself while she knitted…something, it was too early for Walter to tell what. Her abdomen was now quite swollen as well; the child would be delivered within three months, if Walter had to guess.

"Walter, Phila!" Sumia exclaimed excitedly as the trio entered the room, standing up awkwardly and rushing over to hug them both as fast as her stomach would allow. "It's so great to see you again. You should see the pegasus roost now, Phila," Sumia said, turning to the veteran rider, "it's nice and full again. Cordelia just started training the second squad of recruits; they should be leaving for the mountains come spring."

"Here's the journal," Chrom stated, having walked over to the desk in the corner and grabbed the journal from the top of it. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. It's a long read. Sumia, let's leave them to it."

"We just see them again for the first time in ages, and you already want to dump work in their laps without much more than a 'hey, how are you doing?'" Sumia pouted. "You know, I think Lissa was onto something when she said you inherited all the pig-headedness in the family," she teased, causing Chrom to roll his eyes in amusement.

"It is no trouble, milady," Phila said. "This wasn't a pleasure trip, although I can assure you that we will be making them more often in the future, once things have settled down. I do plan on being here for the birth of your child, certainly. It would be an honor to welcome yet another generation of the Exalted Line."

Walter shot Chrom a glance as the two women quickly began talking about babies, and everything involving them, and the King simply mouthed "women", causing Walter to snort in amusement. He then cleared his throat, causing Phila to glance at him in confusion.

"The journal?" Walter said, holding up the book in question.

"Oh, right," Phila said sheepishly.

"Feel free to make yourselves comfortable," Chrom stated with a small grin. "You too, Sumia, you know Libra said you should try to minimize how long you're standing."

"I'm not made of porcelain, love," Sumia objected, but with a smile. "But yes, I suppose my feet are a bit sore." With that, the two of them took seats by the fire, while Walter and Phila sat by each other on the couch. Phila snaked her arm around Walter's side, and he reciprocated by placing his arm around her shoulders. He then flipped open the book with one hand, and began reading.

 _April the Twenty-First, Year 2584_

 _When my father, Alfred, was slain by assassins, I had convinced myself I could know no greater pain or fear. I was horribly, horribly wrong on that count._

 _This started a month ago…or a day, depending on one's perspective. I suppose I'll go with my own. This began a month ago. On April the Twentieth, I was hunting in the Duchy of Ozeanheim with my good friends Roark of House Thorne, Isaac of House Vyland, and old Pavel, the kindly old bishop who'd taught me my letters. Well, to be honest, he was only there to ensure the three of us didn't manage to skewer each other on accident instead of a boar, but I digress. We were trailing along the southern coast near Port Grant when we noticed the strangest thing; a bridge had somehow appeared in the ocean, leading to the ever-mysterious Outrealm Island. We'd all heard the stories, of course; that there were dragons guarding treasure there, that the Goddess herself made her home there (though Pavel steadfastly maintains that she resides on Mount Prism), and all manner of fanciful tales. So, naturally, we crossed this strange bridge (with poor Isaac nearly drowning due to the violent storm that was seemingly conjured from nowhere), to behold the strangest of sights; an archway, with a sheet of what appeared to be pure magic in between the arches. I will not go into detail of what happened next, but suffice it to say that the fact that we were all sucked into it was completely my fault and in no way a result of Roark's tomfoolery._ Walter heard Phila snort as she read that line, but turned his attention back to the page and kept reading.

 _We were transported…well, spatially, nowhere, I suppose. We appeared almost precisely where we'd been standing when we were pulled in. But the very earth itself was blackened and dead, the sky an ominous black, with roiling purple storm clouds as far as the eye could see. A miasma of black magic hung so heavily in the air that Pavel could scarcely breathe, given his sensitivity to magic._

 _If there really are Nine Hells, they combined pale in comparison to the twisted, dead mockery of Ylisse that we now beheld._

 _In a panic, we stormed across the bridge. After all, Port Grant should have been nearby, the first victim of whatever calamity we'd inadvertently unleashed. We arrived at the site of the once proud city, only to behold naught but smoking ruins and…gods, even now I can't envision the bodies without my stomach rebelling. The hundreds of citizens of Port Grant, slain to the last, their mutilated bodies left to rot in the streets. It did not take long for the source of such butchery to make itself known; monstrosities of a necromantic nature beset us in the town square. I had Falchion, Roark had his lance, and Isaac had his bow, but there were so many of them, and they were monstrously strong… Even with Pavel's healing staff, we were sorely pressed just to survive the onslaught, let alone escape or drive them back._

 _Then, we were saved. I will not go into detail of who exactly saved us, for fear of altering things for the worse, but we were saved by a young woman and eleven of her friends. They were barely more than children, really, yet so unnervingly skilled in combat that it put us to shame. As they led us toward the caravan of refugees that they led, we learned the truth of the situation._

 _We had somehow stumbled forward in the stream of time, as much as it beggars belief. We were more than twenty years in the future. As we marched through the desolate fields and immolated towns of my once-proud Ylisse, I begged of our savior to tell us what had happened. The truth froze my blood and set my soul to fright._

 _The Fell Dragon, Grima, had been resurrected and laid the world to ruin._

 _I could scarcely believe it, but the proof was all around me. The very land itself was dead; what else but a dark god could pollute the world to such an extent? Our savior had a plan though; the_ only _plan left to mankind: to gather the lost pieces of the Fire Emblem, the four missing Gemstones, and perform the Awakening, gaining Naga's power and the ability to lay low the foul wyrm once more._

 _Naturally, Roark, Pavel, a very reluctant Isaac, and I volunteered to help. It was my duty as the Exalt, it was the first duty with which I am charged; the security of the world against the Fell Dragon. There was no other recourse, and I suspect our savior was secretly relieved for the help, despite her protests._

 _The next month passed by in a violent, death-ridden blur. Within two weeks, few of the civilians in the caravan were the same ones we'd first met. The foul undead creatures, Risen, our savior named them, roamed the land in packs of dozens. As we hastened from Plegia, to Regna Ferox, back to Ylisse and around again in search of the Gemstones, we found naught but death and destruction. Every day was a bitter, brutal struggle to survive; the land was barren, and the beasts of the wild had long since been slain. Food and drinkable water were scarce. The civilians died of starvation and Risen attacks every day. We saved those we could, but…it was never enough. My soul screamed in agony every time I watched yet another child cut down, yet another woman burned alive by Risen mages, yet another elderly man collapsing from starvation and exhaustion and never standing up again. Even as I write this, my soul continues screaming. There are not words to describe the horror of that month. But even among the death and destruction, we had hope; we found Sable, Azure, Vert, and Argent. We had a fighting chance, a glimmer of hope in the crushing darkness._

 _In the end, we could not find the last Gemstone, Gules. The trail ended in the smoking ruins of Regna Ferox. There, we met Flavia, one of the last of the Feroxi people, and the last Khan of Regna Ferox. I knew of her in my own time, but I'd had yet to meet her. She told us that the old Khan of Western Ferox, Basilio, had known a bit of Gules, but the man had died before Grima was even resurrected. Our leads were extinguished, and we took shelter with her for the night, preparing our next move. We were attacked by Risen the following morning, and Khan Flavia bade us flee while she held them back. We were the last hope of mankind, she'd said. She was wrong. Without Gules, we had no hope._

 _She fell in battle as we fled. She died among a pile of ashes and weapons almost up to my chest in height, but died all the same._

 _We returned to Ylisstol with our hopes shattered. The Awakening was impossible without the Gemstones, and without the Awakening, there was no way to unlock Falchion's might and slay Grima once more. Then our savior concocted a different plan. My party would return through the Gateway to the past, my present, and change the course of the future We had time, yet, before Grima's return, nearly twenty years to locate the Gemstones and prepare for the end. I bade her flee with us, but she refused. She would not leave our people to their fates. She would continue the search for Gules, vowing to scour the entirety of Regna Ferox for it if need be. I am proud of her commitment to her duty, even as I grieve._

 _As we returned to Port Grant, and made our way to the Outrealm Island bridge, we were set upon by Risen. There were but a dozen of them, but these ones were far faster and stronger than any that had come before. Several of the younger of the child-warriors were slain, and my heart breaks for them. As we barely managed to reach the bridge alive, naught but four of the children left alive, a shadow fell over us, blocking what little light came from the sky. My blood froze as I looked up._

 _It was the Fell Dragon himself, come to quash the last of the resistance against him. His size, the aura of sheer_ power _the wyrm radiated, was indescribable. I can only attempt to describe it as the Nine Hells given physical form._

 _Our savior bade us flee as the Risen charged again, Grima flying overhead, laughing and taunting us. I argued. We all argued. We could not conscionably leave her to face such a monstrosity herself. But our savior reminded us of our duty. Of what needed to be done. Even as my heart screamed to stand and fight, we fled. Grima's own champion, an actual human to my surprise, came forward to stop us, but our savior engaged him first. As we reached the Island, the Fell Dragon finally descended to deal with the children personally. I could almost swear I heard one last scream of defiance over Grima's cruel laughter before Isaac pulled me through the Gateway._

 _We reappeared in our own time. Barely a day had passed, but each of us felt as if we'd aged ten years. We did not speak. We still have not spoken, even as I write this. We grieve for those warriors, for the woman who saved us. We grieve for a future lost._

 _But there is hope now. Our savior told us how the Fell Dragon had been resurrected. The citizens of Plegia willingly sacrificed their souls, as they have for millennia, to give him life-force, but the key is Grima's champion, the man who'd engaged us at the bridge. Without that man to act as a tether, Grima's soul cannot stay bound to the earth. And so our task becomes clear to me: we must deprive Grima of both his life force, and his champion. For my newly born daughter, Emmeryn, for the entire world, Plegia must be…removed from the equation._

 _I have finally spoken to the others. Tomorrow, we return to Ylisstol. Then, we march to Plegia. To war._

Walter looked up as he finished the journal entry. Phila was a slightly faster reader than him, and was clutching his side in a death grip, looking physically ill.

"This…this is…" Walter stuttered, before trailing off. There weren't words for this, none that he knew.

"It…it makes sense now," Phila whispered. Walter turned to her questioningly. "I had spoken to them before that trip," she explained. "They were young, we all were. They were relatively carefree, even the newly Exalted Bertrand who'd just lost his father. But when they came back from that trip…something had changed. They looked almost…broken. I could never get Roark to confess what had happened, and have always wondered…but this…"

"It's nonsense," Walter replied skeptically. "It's more likely that Exalt Bertrand always intended to go to war with Plegia, and wrote this as an excuse, intending for others to read it."

"No, it's true," Chrom interjected. "There's plenty of evidence to support it, if you know where to look. But keep reading. There's more."

Walter gave Chrom a skeptical look, but flipped to the next part he'd bookmarked, toward the end of the journal.

 _August the Fourteenth, 2594_

 _We found him, at long last. We've found Grima's avatar._

 _I had begun to lose hope. I'd begun to believe that the past nine years of slaughter have been meaningless, the horrible byproduct of an addled mind. I have even occasionally deluded myself into thinking that our experience in the Outrealm Gate was just a flight of fancy, some shared hallucination that has resulted in the near-ruination of the world._

 _Of course, hallucinated undead monstrosities do not leave scars from axes and burn wounds that persist almost a decade later, so such delusions are often short-lived. Even now, my shoulder aches from the burn that Grima's avatar dealt to me at the Outrealm Bridge, all those years ago._

 _But regardless, we have found him, at long last. As General Sedgar marches the main army to Castle Plegia for the fifth time, my own Company marches on the Dragon's Table, the Grimleal's most holy place, with a battalion of regular line soldiers behind us. I feel a fool for not having thought the Avatar would be hiding here, but perhaps an earlier assault would have driven him into hiding. Regardless, here we are; the final battle. When we win today, I will surrender myself to Plegian custody and beg their mercy on Ylisse. I deserve death for what I've done. I can only hope the new King, the boy Gangrel, can see the sense in ceasing this bloody war. I am fearful, because our reports say he already shows a penchant for hatred and cruelty, but I must hope all the same._

 _My Company does not yet know the truth of the matter; how does one explain that we are hunting the Avatar of the Fell Dragon, after all? They believe that we are here to rout the Grimleal for good and all, their heresy and immorality was the official reason for this war, after all. Phila is suspicious of our motives, but she cannot pry the truth from even Roark. We all swore each other to secrecy, after all. Regardless, we prepare now to assault the Table. They clearly have been expecting us; the place looks to be well fortified. I doubt that we will escape this unscathed, but it must be done. The fate of the world rests on our shoulders. The Fell Dragon cannot be revived._

"You were there?" Walter asked, turning to Phila.

"Yes, I served with Bertrand's personal company during the war," Phila reminded him. "I was there for that battle…and gods, was it the hardest one yet." Walter nodded, and turned back to the paper.

 _August the Fifteenth, 2594_

 _I failed._

 _The battle was a success. The fighting was brutal, and most of the line soldiers that accompanied us now lay dead in the Plegian dust, but we've won the battle…only to lose the war._

 _And it is entirely my fault._

 _We fought our way into the temple, shedding blood for every inch of ground. Their sorcerers weaved tremendous black firestorms, their knights throwing themselves upon our blades to give their comrades the chance to attack. The fanaticism of the Grimleal has always forced me to give a grudging respect, and it holds ever truer as we invade their most sacred of temples._

 _They could not stop us, however, and we breached the Inner Sanctum, to witness them attempting to summon Grima before our very eyes. The others knew not what they were doing with the child, of course, likely believing it some typically depraved dark ritual, but Isaac, Roark, Pavel and I all knew better. I ordered the charge, and we met their most fearsome warriors in single combat._

 _As we fought desperately to reach the Altar, I was taken aback as one of their own entered the room and began firing spells at the Grimleal. She attacked us as well, however; Geoffrey of House Themis nearly lost his head to a well-aimed Thoron spell. Her intervention is precisely what was needed to break the stalemate, however, and I broke through the lines just as the interloper fought the Grimleal Hierarch. He was a dark skinned, almost skeletally thin sorcerer, and dark magic radiated from him so thickly even I could feel it, despite having very little aptitude for magic._

 _Picking the more important of the targets, I joined the woman in attacking him. The two had been evenly matched prior to my intervention, but together we drove him into retreat. They shouted at each other in native Plegian, but I could make no sense of it. Pavel was always the translator…regardless, as I went to thank the woman, she drew steel on me. Taken by surprise and subsequently wounded, I was forced to retreat for healing. As Pavel healed my burnt arm, I saw her take the young Avatar and flee. I pursued her, even as Grimleal reinforcements arrived to attack us. Roark undoubtedly took charge, but I honestly cared not; I would have sacrificed us all a thousand times over for just a chance to kill the Avatar._

 _I pursued the woman through the temple. Eventually I caught up, as she was ambushed by two Grimleal priests, the boy cowering in fear in the corner. She fought her way free of them and just barely prevented me from slaying the Avatar, before engaging me in single combat. Her mastery of mixed spellcraft and swordsmanship exceeded even Geoffrey, impressing me greatly, but I eventually overpowered her. As she lay on the ground, bleeding from several wounds, I approached the now terrified child. The woman threatened and cursed as I raised Falchion, but I cared not. This was the Avatar, Grima's sole tether to the mortal realm. His death would save innumerable lives. He had to die._

 _But I didn't do it._

 _I don't know why I didn't strike. I've killed my share of children; I would not give my soldiers orders I wouldn't follow myself, after all. But this child, of an age with my own young son, the way he screamed for his mother as I came close…I could not help but to think of Chrom, screaming for his own mother as he tossed and turned, caught in the throes of a nightmare. Even as the rational part of my mind screamed at me to strike him, I lowered my blade. The child began crying then, and I hugged him close and comforted him. I never forgot what he was, what he was destined to do, but…he so reminded me of my own son. My weakness got the better of me._

 _The child never calmed, until his wounded mother came and took him from me. She was too wounded to flee, too tired to fight me. She just took the child in her own arms and held him until the tears subsided and the boy passed out from the ordeal. We talked, then, as I pulled us into an empty room. She introduced herself as Selene as I treated her wounds. She explained that she wasn't Grimleal, despite her priestess' robes, and that her child wasn't either. She had been kidnapped from her village and forced to…breed with their leader. I was repulsed, naturally, and she has my sympathy for her ordeal. We talked some more after that and she displayed quite a level of strategic ability; apparently she'd taken to studying in her "husband's" library in her spare time. Her "good behavior" as a "wife" to that maniac allowed her quite a bit of personal freedom. Once her son was born, she was treated practically as just another member of the cult. When I inquired why she didn't attempt to flee, she said that she feared too greatly for her son to try. He deserved more than a life as a fugitive, she said, and I can respect that. Despite our circumstances, I found myself pitying her._

 _She knew what her child was. I knew what her child was. She knew what I was there for. I knew what I was there for. It was my duty, my destiny, to slay her child. I knew what I was supposed to do._

 _Regardless, once her wounds were treated, I let her go. My sentimentality has doomed us all._

 _I regrouped with the others then. Roark had rallied them, as I figured he would, and we routed most of the Grimleal, slaying them to nearly the last. Even Grimleal fanaticism has its limits, I saw; the last few survivors fled as I returned. Roark will be reading this later, and undoubtedly think me a fool and a traitor, but at the time, I simply told them that he escaped. The others shot me inquisitive glances, but Sir Farron of House Draug, my retainer, came to me then and informed me that the Plegian Army had surrounded us._

 _And that brings us to where we are now. As I finish writing this, my Company prepares to flee to the east, to cut through the Plegian Mountains and return to Ylisstol, with Falchion and the Fire Emblem in hand. I, however, am staying behind. I have lost my right to life, for both what I've done to the innocents of Plegia, and for the base treason I committed today. My wife, Henrietta, elected to remain behind with me. She knows most all that I know, and what we've done together weighs heavily on her. She can speak all she wishes of her love for me and her obligation to be by my side until death, but I know full well that she believes, as I do, that we deserve this fate. Roark volunteered as well, but I denied him. I have one last order for him, after all._

 _It is up to Roark, now. Emmeryn despises this war. I even think he's begun to despise_ me _. When last I was home, the disgusted look in her eyes nearly tore my heart in two, especially coming from a child of nine. But regardless of either of our feelings, this war must go on. I have instructed Roark that if Emmeryn will not continue the war, then he is to…remove her from power if he must. This is the only part that Henrietta does not know. She would kill the both of us first before she let her children be harmed, being the loving mother that she is. At least one of us is a decent parent... I have instructed Roark to ensure that at least one member of the Exalted Line, at least one potential wielder of Falchion, remain alive in case of failure, but he has my orders to do whatever it takes to ensure the Grimleal's machinations do not come to pass. Even if it means killing my own children. It's ironic, that as my time comes to a close, I finally give an order I couldn't follow myself. If I couldn't put down someone else's child, I would never be able to kill my own…but enough of that. The Company prepares to move, and the young King Gangrel himself approaches the ruins of the Table; it is time to face my just desserts._

 _If you ever read this, my children, know that I regret, with all that I am, what I have done to you. You deserved a better father._

Walter's face screwed up in anger as he finished reading Bertrand's last entry. Phila had finished before him, and had her face buried in his shoulder, sobbing softly. If Walter wasn't so enraged, he'd be tempted to join her.

"That bastard," Walter growled, before throwing the diary across the room. Chrom just barely managed to catch it before it landed in the fire. "What kind of a man does that to his own children!?" he roared.

"What kind of man, indeed?" Chrom muttered morosely, before clearing his throat. "However, now that you know what my father did, and why he did it, that brings me to why I asked you here."

Walter's rage spun down, and Phila cleared her own throat and wiped her eyes. "What would you ask of me, Your Majesty?" Walter asked stiffly.

"My father was…well, he was an awful man," Chrom admitted. "But everything he did was to prevent Grima's return, so perhaps he was not entirely irredeemable. I'd thought for so long he was just a madman, a zealot, but... regardless; the Avatar is still out there, somewhere. I want you to find him, and either capture or…kill him," Chrom stated with finality.

"That seems a simple enough task," Walter admitted. "I am no stranger to investigatory work. But why do you ask me, specifically? Surely it would be more prudent to select someone less well-known?"

"Perhaps," Chrom admitted, "but my father had the right of one thing; Grima's resurrection needs to be stopped at all costs. I ask you because I know you're capable of doing whatever it takes to make sure that monster isn't revived. Finding this Avatar may require doing things that the other Shepherds wouldn't be willing to, and it will almost certainly require greater skill in combat than the average scout or spy has. There is no one better for the job."

Walter didn't even hesitate before he responded. "I accept this task," Walter stated resolutely, standing up and putting his fist on his breast. "I have long wondered why I was sent to this world, and I believe I now have the answer. The Lord knows my dedication to His Will, and I am certain he wishes to avert the doom Bertrand foresaw. He must have sent me here to that end, and I swear to you now, I will not rest until this Avatar is found and slain."

"Or captured," Chrom reminded. "Preferably captured. From the sounds of it, this 'Selene' woman wanted nothing to do with the Grimleal. She may have raised this child to be ignorant of his fate, or even trained him to defy it directly, and I won't murder an innocent man without cause."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Walter responded dutifully. He personally felt that it would be more prudent to have the man killed anyway, but he didn't wish for Chrom to become his father. He'd had his concerns with Chrom's temper and surprising aptitude for subterfuge, but he was glad to see the man had resolved to be better than that. "Do we have any leads?"

"Yes, actually," Chrom responded. "A mutual friend in Plegia claims to have known this 'Selene'. I've already arranged a meeting between the two of you near the border. Be warned, however," Chrom stated gravely, "The Plegian Throne is now controlled by the Grimleal, the new King-Regnant was once their Hierophant. Try to avoid the Grimleal at all costs, and keep your search as discreet as possible. The last thing we want is for the Grimleal to find the Avatar before we do."

"Yes, milord," Walter said with a bow, before a thought occurred. "Who is this 'mutual friend' you spoke of?"

Chrom grinned at that. "The only friend we have in Plegia," he chuckled. "Your contact is General Mustafa."

 **AN:**

 **I have been absolutely convinced from Day 1 that Chrom's father saw the future resurrection of Grima and waged war for that reason. I mean, Emmeryn and Lissa don't share an ounce of the aggression that their father does, and Chrom loses his temper like twice in the entire game, so how the fuck was their father a genocidal lunatic? I mean, the explanation that his kids were disgusted by it and resolved to be better is a valid and reasonable explanation, but I always thought there was more to their father's violence. This is me bringing that crack theory to life.**

 **I named their father Bertrand, and his father Alfred, because I felt like making alphabet jokes. "A, B, C…L…C…" Okay, that doesn't really work. Fuck it, too late!**

 **And yes, the future children in that timeline are now all dead and Grima utterly destroys the world with no resistance. MULTIPLE TIMELINES, HO!**


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

 **The Silver Haired Sorcerer**

"General Mustafa, it's a pleasure to see you again," Walter greeted warmly as he met the man outside of Themis.

"General Walter," Mustafa greeted in kind, bowing low at the hip as he turned away from gazing at Themis. "Likewise, and congratulations on your engagement. Your betrothed is quite beautiful, and I could tell from the moment I saw you next to each other that you belonged together."

"Why, aren't you a sweetheart," Phila giggled, before becoming uneasy. "I…never thanked you for returning Emmeryn's body. I'm sorry about that."

"Among friends, words are not needed," Mustafa responded kindly, before his face became serious. "Prince Chrom has informed me of the situation. Many of my soldiers are Grimleal, but most in name only, and spurn most of the rites of the faith. I myself do not claim adherence to the faith at all. I have as little desire to see that foul beast resurrected as any Ylissean."

"You take a great risk doing this, Mustafa," Walter warned. "It is not too late to back out."

"For fear of what, losing my job?" Mustafa snorted. "They can have it; the Midmire is an awful posting anyway."

"The Midmire?" Walter asked, uneasily ignoring the fact that Mustafa clearly didn't regard possible death as a severe enough consequence to worry over.

"We commonly refer to it as 'the Boneyard' in Ylisse," Phila supplied. "In the time of the first Exalt, the Earth Dragons were freed from their prison at the Dragon's Table, and a desperate battle was waged to wipe them out before they spread across what was then the United Kingdom of Archanea. We fled through there from Castle Plegia, when…"

"Ah," Walter responded. He remembered that day, and the muddy mass grave, all too well. That had been a hard day for all of them.

"But yes, it is a miserable posting," Mustafa said, thankfully redirecting the conversation. "I am glad to take my leave of it, if only temporarily. Our first destination is a Grimleal temple just on the other side of the mountains."

Walter raised his eyebrow. "Given the nature of our search, is such a stop really advisable?" Walter asked doubtfully.

"Not all Grimleal are there for the faith," Mustafa replied. "Many of them are simply there to learn dark magic. Your own dark mage, Tharja, was one such example. I know of another, and he thinks he can find the whereabouts of Selene." With a shrug, the pair then fell in beside Mustafa as he began walking back toward the mountain range.

"You speak as if you know her," Phila pointed out as they walked.

"In passing," Mustafa replied. "All generals are familiar with the Grimleal's clergy, given their role in our government and army. Accordingly, they are also familiar with Validar, the previous Hierophant and new King-Regnant, and his wife…or ex-wife, I suppose," Mustafa chuckled. "Word has it she had a rather…violent falling out with her husband. I was trying to repel General Sedgar from Castle Plegia at the time, so I'm not entirely sure if it is true."

"It is true, I was there for that," Phila said dryly. "When Exalt Bertrand assaulted the Dragon's Table in the First Crusade, she attacked both sides. Quite devastatingly might I add; she nearly killed several of Bertrand's Company in the process. I didn't understand why at the time, but having read Bertrand's journal, I understand why she did now."

"Brave of her," Mustafa said admiringly. "I would personally hesitate to make a direct enemy of the Grimleal. It's small wonder that no one's seen or heard from her since."

"Do you think she's already been killed?" Walter asked worriedly.

Mustafa scoffed at that. "No. Validar would have paraded her mutilated corpse through the streets as a 'lesson' as to what happens when you 'defy Grima's terrible will' or some such nonsense. No, I believe she still lives, in hiding."

"One can only hope," Walter said. "I can only hope she'll be forthcoming with the location of the Avatar."

"I doubt it will be that easy," Mustafa chuckled ruefully.

000

They made camp that night inside the Border Pass; the pass had been cleared enough of the debris from Walter's spell for it to be traveled through by traders, but it was still infeasible for armies to be marched through it. Walter secretly hoped that it would stay that way; the Border Pass was formerly the premier pass through which one could march an army, and Plegia permanently losing access to that pass for military purposes could only benefit Ylisse.

"I heard what you did here," Mustafa pointed out as the two of them unpacked their tents. Phila and Walter were sharing, of course, so Phila was currently feeding and watering Erinys. "One of the wyvern riders said something about a 'world ending doom spell'?"

Walter chuckled at that. "Yes, I used the Meteor spell. I didn't foresee it collapsing the pass, however, but it bought us valuable time."

"Yes, Gangrel was quite displeased when he received the news," Mustafa said with a laugh as he drove the last stake for his tent into the earth. "Almost gutted the poor messenger, it took quite a bit of persuasion for him not to."

"He would slay his own runners?" Walter asked incredulously as he finished his own tent, and Mustafa nodded grimly. "Thank the Lord that that mad tyrant has been deposed. One can only hope that this new King-Regnant, Validar, is better."

"He is, but I wouldn't say by much," Mustafa said grimly. "He doesn't outright threaten or kill his own soldiers and nobles, but some of his more vocal opponents have 'taken an extended leave of absence', or other contrived nonsense. He's a man of plots and schemes, with eyes like a snake. He talks often of forging bonds with our neighbors, but I warn you now: he's plotting against Ylisse. I am sure of it."

"He's likely searching for the Avatar himself," Phila theorized as she joined them, a bundle of firewood in her arms now. "He has already tried to resurrect Grima once, but from what I gather the boy wasn't ready."

"Perhaps he simply needed to get older," Mustafa guessed. "If that's the case, then the boy should be somewhere around King Chrom's age now, and could be ready to host the Fell Dragon. We can't let the Grimleal find them first."

"Speaking of the Grimleal," Walter asked worriedly, "are you sure we should be involving one of them in the search?"

"As I said before, he is not Grimleal in anything but name," Mustafa said insistently, before looking a little hesitant. "Of course, the boy is…eccentric. I suppose you'll see that for yourself. But I trust him. He wouldn't betray us to the Grimleal, if only because it would be more boring for him that way."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "I don't like the sound of that, Mustafa," Walter said half-jokingly, half worriedly.

"It doesn't matter if he's mad, as long as it works out in our favor," Phila spoke up.

"Too true," Mustafa said with a smile. "But enough of such dour matters. Tell me, where did you find that pegasus? They are rare in Plegia, but I saw enough of them in the First Crusade to know that that's not what they're supposed to look like."

Phila and Walter explained Erinys' origins and story to Mustafa, who then shared his own tale about being cornered in a mountain pass by Pegasus Knights in the First Crusade. The three veterans stayed up a while longer, trading stories of their own past battles, before each retired for the night.

000

It took them two days of following the Plegian Mountains northward to reach their destination: a small Grimleal temple on the border of the country. By Mustafa's account, it functioned as a premier school for young, talented dark mages of the Grimleal, known for turning out some of the most famous dark mages in Plegian history. The temple itself was rather small from what Walter was expecting; it was only a few stories tall, nestled into the nearest mountainside, with a long, weathered staircase leading up to the doors. To Walter's surprise, it was relatively modest; the architecture was quite practical and plain, and there were no statues or elegantly trimmed shrubbery one might expect of a prestigious school. The only common decorations were banners with the black, purple, and gold livery of the Grimleal at every turn, and it turned Walter's stomach if he stared at the Brand of the Defile on them for too long. It did not help that the sun was beginning to set, casting an eerie twilight glow on the foreboding sanctum.

"I have a very bad feeling about this place," Walter said grimly as they reached the flight of steps leading up to the entrance. Phila fluttered down shortly thereafter, dismounting Erinys. The pegasus itself was restless, fidgety, and quite clearly hesitant to go any closer to the temple. "Dark magic pervades the air here."

"It's a school for dark mages," Mustafa pointed out dryly, before his own face turned grim. "The Grimleal are fiercely possessive of their secrets, and vehemently against non-believers entering the temple at all. You two will need to remain out here while I speak to our contact. In all honesty, they may not even allow me to enter, but I should be able to get him summoned to the front gate, at least."

"Will they come out here to confront us?" Phila asked nervously as she petted Erinys' nose soothingly.

"Unlikely," Mustafa responded. "The instructors here are too preoccupied with their teaching and their personal studies to be bothered shooing away people who are simply sightseeing. Just do not enter the grounds and you should be left alone."

"Given the nature of our mission, should you really be going in there alone?" Walter asked.

"Perhaps not," Mustafa admitted, "but this is the most likely way to avoid needless bloodshed. I will be fine."

"All the same," Walter said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small, black cylinder, "take this. A signal flare devised by one of the Shepherd's mages, Miriel. Simply point it out the nearest window and twist the cap. It should release a shower of sparks, and we will come to your aid."

"I appreciate the consideration," Mustafa said, pocketing the device. "I will be back momentarily." With that, he began climbing the stairs, leaving the two Ylisseans at the bottom.

"This is a horrid idea," Phila said quietly as Mustafa was ushered in by an apparent Grimleal priest. "He should not be going in alone."

"He has the right of it," Walter sighed, before sitting cross-legged on the ground. "We should avoid notice and bloodshed until necessary. The last thing we need is the Grimleal hounding our steps along our search. We must wait."

And wait they did. The sun's light slowly faded as they stood vigil at the base of the stairs, time seeming to both crawl and fly by as the tension grew. As the last of the sun's rays died, candles and lanterns began flickering to life within the building.

"It's been nearly an hour," Phila said worriedly. "Should we go in after him?"

"Even without the flare, combat magic is not quiet," Walter responded. "If he was being attacked, we would hear-"Walter was cut off by a resounding explosion within the walls. "That," he sighed, before shooting to his feet. Phila was already swinging her leg over Erinys, though the pegasus was clearly not thrilled at the prospect of going near the temple. Seconds later, Mustafa's flare shot out of one of the windows on the third floor.

"Climb aboard, Walter," Phila commanded. Walter obliged (despite Erinys' clear discomfort with both having a male rider and the now obvious fact that she would be going near the source of dark magic that had been bothering her), and they took off toward the window Mustafa had shot his flare through. As they approached, an explosion blew out a section of the wall further down the hall from where Mustafa had shot his flare.

"Drop me there!" Walter commanded over the roaring wind.

"You expect me to let you in there alone?" Phila asked incredulously, though she angled Erinys toward the opening anyway.

"It's either that, or we both dismount and risk not having a quick escape," Watler replied as they drew near the hole. "I will find Mustafa, and head for either the roof or the front entrance, whichever is more accessible. Keep an eye out for us; we will be waiting for you."

"You will not have to wait long," Phila swore, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he leapt from the side of the pegasus, into the temple. With a beat of wings and a rush of air, the duo were gone.

Walter got his footing just in time to barely avoid taking a flux spell to the chest. Down the hall from him was a trio of Grimleal sorcerers, guards if Walter had to guess.

"Slay the heretic!" the apparent leader commanded.

"That's my line," Walter said with a mixture of grim anticipation and amusement, before drawing his mace and casting a lightning spell down the hallway. The sorcerers scrambled for cover, and the spell blasted out another section of the ancient temple.

"You defile our holy temple!" The guard captain raged. "You will not leave this place alive!"

Walter's response was to cast a flurry of ice spikes down the hallway. Their inexperience with ice spells caused one of the guards to move too slowly, and the spike easily pierced his thin robes, cutting clean through him. He was dead before he hit the earth. Walter's brow furrowed, however, as more guards rounded the corner, and several explosions sounded behind him, toward where he guessed Mustafa was heading. He didn't have the time to be fooling around, slaying every guard in the temple.

"Vine!" he cried, channeling his mana to the earth. Seconds later, the vines erupted, skewering several of the unprepared guards. He did not stop to watch the ensuing gas attack, though; he immediately spun and ran, tuning out the pained screams behind him.

He ran for several minutes, and nodded with grim approval at the bodies he passed. Mustafa was as skilled as ever. He noticed several of the bodies with scorch marks, however; he guessed that he'd found their contact at some point. The carnage led slowly upward; they either planned to escape from the roof, or were being corralled. He doubled his pace as shouting echoed behind him. More guards had apparently picked up the chase.

A tense couple of minutes later and he burst onto the roof, and narrowly avoided an Elfire spell.

"Hold, he's a friend," Mustafa's voice rang out. Walter got his bearings and noticed Mustafa standing with a young, silver haired man that was absolutely coated in blood, wearing a wide smile that unnerved Walter.

"Walter, this is Henry, our contact," he said. "Henry, Walter."

"Hello!" Henry greeted cheerfully. "Oooohhh, I see you use a mace!" He said excitedly, pointing to Walter's weapon. Walter nodded warily, unsure where the clearly unsettled young man was going with this. "Do your opponents bleed a lot when you hit them? I bet they do with those flanges on it. What does it feel like when you crack their skulls open?"

"Henry, focus," Mustafa said quickly as Walter turned pale. "Why did you lead us here? We're cornered."

"Nya-ha-ha!" Henry cackled, "That's the best part!" He exclaimed cheerily, causing both of the others to grimace. "Now they _all_ have to come through that one tiny little door, and KABLAMMO, Ruin spell to the face! There's going to be so much _blood_!" he cried giddily.

"Henry, we don't _want_ to kill them all!" Mustafa shouted angrily. Walter grimaced in grim anticipation as he heard shouting from farther down the stairwell; they would be here shortly. "We're trying to keep our mission low-profile, and having the Grand General of the Ylissean Army at the site of a massacre is exactly the opposite of low profile!"

"Aww, you're no fun," Henry sighed, before clapping his hands together. "Oh well. I have another idea!"

"Walter, Mustafa!" A voice shouted. The trio looked up to see Phila descending, looking worried. "There's a Plegian Army patrol approaching the temple; they've noticed the ruckus, we need to leave."

"How?" Walter asked, mentally kicking himself as he realized something he'd overlooked before. "We can't fit four people onto a pegasus."

"Oh, that brings me back to my idea!" Henry said cheerily as something fluttered down and settled on his shoulder. A raven, Walter was surprised to note. "We're gonna fly out of here!"

"Do you have wyverns nearby?" Walter asked, confused. He couldn't see a roost of any kind on the empty roof, let alone one large enough to hold wyverns.

"Nope!" Henry replied. "I do have this raven though!"

"I fail to see how that's helpful," Walter deadpanned. The raven on Henry's shoulder let out a screech in response. Walter was about to say something rude to the bird, before he heard an answering call. And another. Soon, he could hear little _but_ the sound of cawing ravens.

"What in the world…" he trailed off as he turned, though, and a cold feeling went down his spine. Flying toward them with a worrying amount of speed was a flock of ravens so large that it nearly blotted out the night sky. The moon's light just barely managed to conceal them.

"Hold on tight everyone!" Henry shouted gleefully as the birds descended on them. "And don't fight them, they're being really nice right now by giving us a lift!"

Walter panicked as he felt something seize hold of his pauldron. One of the ravens had grabbed hold of it. As he was about to ignore Henry and swat the bird away, another grabbed his other pauldron. Before he could swat either away, his vision was practically swallowed in black feathers, and he felt their sharp talons grabbing anywhere and everywhere. As he shouted in panic, he felt the very uncomfortable sensation of his center of gravity shifting wildly, and soon his feet were off the ground entirely. He tried wresting his limbs away from the ravens, but a quick nip to his ear and a particularly annoyed screech convinced him to stop struggling. Soon, he felt a lurch as the ravens picked him up bodily.

Walter's stomach did backflips as the flock began moving, him suspended inside of it. Here and there the storm cloud of ravens would part for a second, and he saw that they were crossing the sands of Plegia now; he couldn't see the tower anywhere. An indeterminable amount of time passed, the cawing of the ravens and massed flutter of wings all he could hear, the wall of black and occasional glimpse of sand all he could see. He could not tell how long had passed before his stomach lurched again as they descended, and he was deposited on the ground quite ungracefully, letting out a soft "oomph" as he landed on top of a dune.

"That was…different," he heard Mustafa's voice say blearily to his left. As the flock of ravens took to the air again, flying back the way they'd came, he noticed that Henry was standing upright, smiling that same broad, creepy smile.

"They said you're heavy," Henry chuckled to Walter as the paladin stood shakily and tried futilely to dust some of the sand off of him.

"Naga above, are you both alright?" Phila's worried voice came from behind him. He turned just in time for her to collide with his chest, wrapping him in a worried embrace.

"I am fine," Walter answered soothingly, briefly returning it. "A little…disoriented, but otherwise fine. Where are we?"

"Oh, I dunno, a couple miles from the Academy," Henry said with a shrug. "Not too late to turn around and fight them, but enough to give us a head start if you want to run. I really don't want to run though, physical training was never fun."

"Thank you for your assistance, Henry," Mustafa said. "I've never flown with ravens before, and I'm not entirely sure I wish to repeat the experience, but thank you nonetheless." Walter noticed that Mustafa was covered in talon marks; Walter's armor had protected him from the birds' talons, but Mustafa's Vaike-esque dress code didn't afford him the same protection.

"Oh, no problem, Mustafa!" Henry said gladly.

"Mustafa said that you could help us locate the former Grimleal priestess Selene?" Walter asked of the young dark mage.

"Well, _I_ can't, but my friends can!" Henry said proudly, gesturing to the single raven that had stuck around. "They see all sorts of things in the woods, I'm sure one of them has seen her."

"We're to take directions…from a raven?" Walter responded skeptically.

"Oh, not just Edgar here," Henry said with a giggle. "There's this lovely family of desert foxes north of here that always has the _best_ information, some wolves in the northern forest, a rather ornery old wyvern in the peaks that I did a favor once, a forest on the desert's edge that has been around for ages, some scorpions that-"

"I get the picture," Walter interrupted in a deadpan tone. "We're taking directions from animals and trees…lovely," he said dryly.

"It beggars belief, but I trust him," Mustafa spoke up, clapping Henry on the shoulder genially. "His gift of speaking to the wild has saved my hide on more than one occasion."

Walter was still skeptical, but he sighed in defeat and nodded. "Very well," he said. "It's not as if I have any better ideas."

"We should move ahead more, and then stop to rest," Phila suggested. "We need to create some distance from the Temple while we can."

"Agreed," Mustafa said. "We'll march until sunrise, and stop to rest. Then we'll continue after the sun sets again."

"Oh boy!" Henry spoke up happily, pulling their attention to him.

"You enjoy marching through the desert?" Walter asked amusedly.

"Pfft, no," Henry replied dismissively, before grinning madly. "I'm _bleeding!_ " he cried excitedly, holding up his bared arm. Walter winced as he saw the wound; apparently someone with an axe had got him good.

"Gods, you should have said something, Henry," Mustafa said worriedly, seizing the boy's arm and looking at it closely. "I had thought you'd dodged that blow."

"Oh, it's fine, I don't really feel pain," Henry giggled, before running a finger along the wound and holding his now very red finger up in the moonlight, gazing at it excitedly. "I wonder if I'll bleed enough to draw a summoning circle? Some Risen will make a great distraction against the Plegian Army patrol pursuing us!"

"No, you're not summoning Risen with your own blood," Phila said shortly, before storming over and seizing the young man's arm, hefting her staff. "Hold still," she commanded.

"Aw, you're no fun," Henry pouted, but he allowed Phila to heal his wound all the same. "Do you think it'll leave a scar? A great, big, angry looking one?"

"I would hope not," Mustafa said grimly. "You shouldn't be out to earn injuries, we've talked about this!"

"And as I always point out, if _you_ don't want to suffer injuries, then why don't _you_ wear real armor?" Henry asked playfully.

As the duo dissolved into an apparently familiar argument about the virtues of being injured in combat and their mutual habit of not wearing armor to prevent said injuries, Phila and Walter looked at each other incredulously.

 _Plegians are more insane than Ylisseans,_ he realized with a mixture of both amusement and dread as Phila prompted the pair to start marching. The argument between Mustafa and Henry didn't stop until they stopped to rest.

 **AN:**

 **MUSTAFA IS BACK**

 **HENRY HAS ARRIVED**

 **THEY'RE OFF HUNTING FOR VALIDAR'S WIFE**

 **YEEEEAAAAHHHH ADVENTURES**

 **I never liked how Henry got to the Shepherds. It just seemed like IS made the character and got most of the way through development before realizing that they never actually put him in the game, so they just shoved him in there randomly. That, or he was originally meant to join when Tharja did and they replaced him with Thotja because they realized he wasn't sexy enough or something. Either way, I didn't like it, and I've already meddled the fuck out of this story by not killing Mustafa (the best one-off boss in the series and the only time a Camus archetype was done well), and Mustafa and Henry knew each other (to the point where Henry's supports allude to Mustafa considering him a son), so yeah, this is a thing that's happening.**


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter 59**

 **The Ruins of Thabes**

For three days, they followed Henry across the Plegian desert, marching at night to avoid the worst of the desert heat. Walter was still skeptical of his ability to talk to the beasts and plants of the wild; they had followed their "directions" the entire time and had found naught but sand and the occasional oasis (which was the only reason they yet lived). The only concrete thing Walter knew is that they were trending northward.

"This is madness," Walter grumbled as he nearly broke his ankle sliding down a dune in the pre-dawn light. "We are following the whims of scorpions and lizards into the middle of the desert. We do not have the supplies to be making such a lengthy excursion." Their rations were holding up well enough, but their water supply was running somewhat low, with four people, a raven, and a pegasus all drawing from the reserves. It had been over a day since the last oasis, and Mustafa didn't recall any others being within feasible range. Once they got too low, they'd have to backtrack and figure out another plan.

"Oh, we're close now," Henry said happily as he crouched near his latest "informant", a large spider. "This little guy saw her just the other day."

"Saw her _where_?" Walter prompted irritably as Henry turned back to the spider. "There is nothing around us for miles!"

"Actually, I see something over there," Mustafa spoke up, pointing eastward.

Walter followed where he was pointing, and frowned. "A boulder," he deadpanned. It was just a massive lump of rock.

"In the middle of the desert?" Phila asked skeptically. "That's a bit abnormal, isn't it?"

"It's farther away than it appears," Mustafa said. "The sands play many tricks on the unwary. If that is a boulder, then it is the size of a small building."

"You believe it to be a dwelling, then?" Phila asked, while Walter scoffed dismissively.

"I believe it to be _something_ ," Mustafa said, almost defensively.

"Yup, that's where she is," Henry stated satisfactorily as he stood back up, dusting his robes off. "He says she's been there since the days of his ancestors."

"The woman we're looking for is hardly ancient," Walter scoffed.

"Yeah, but spiders don't live very long either," Henry countered, while his raven, Edgar, screeched at Walter in annoyance. "It's probably been at least ten generations of spiders since she moved in."

"Either way, this is our only lead at the moment," Phila stated diplomatically. "If it is not where Selene dwells, then it may at least offer us shelter for the day."

"I suppose we can agree on that much," Walter sighed as they began trudging toward the "building" (that Walter still insisted was a boulder).

Ten minutes later, however, Walter's face turned rather red, and not from the morning desert heat. It was, in fact, a small one-story building. Rounded from the desert winds and older than anything he'd ever seen, but a building nonetheless. A large, worn, heavy wooden door was the only apparent entry or exit; there were no windows.

"Nya-ha-ha!" Henry cackled. "I told you so!"

"Yes, yes, I was wrong," Walter admitted. "Very well, let us investigate. I still doubt our quarry has lived in this little hovel for twenty years, but as Phila said, it can at least offer us shelter."

"It's locked," Mustafa said with a dissatisfied grunt as his efforts to open the door were met with failure.

"I can solve that," Walter said smugly.

A second later, Walter was dusting his hands off from the effect of his fire spell, the door laying as burnt splinters on the sand and the others coughing and waving the smoke away from their faces.

"Was that particularly necessary?" Mustafa asked dryly as the dust settled. "Now she almost assuredly knows we're here. If she wishes to flee, she could.

"There is but one entrance or exit," Walter countered as Phila strode forward, scouting the interior, "and we're standing in front of it."

"Something is wrong here," Phila said uneasily, beckoning them forward. The others moved forward and peered into the building; Walter was surprised to see that there was nothing in the small building other than what appeared to be a staircase leading downward, right in the middle of the floor. As his eyes locked on the staircase and the darkness below it, his sixth sense immediately spiked.

"Dark magic," he and Henry both said simultaneously.

"I believe we've found our quarry," Walter said. "Anyone who spends time among the Grimleal surely knows dark magic."

"She did use a few dark magic spells when we fought her before," Phila said thoughtfully. Walter absently noted that Henry's raven, Edgar, had now perched on the end of Erinys' horn, much to the pegasus' consternation. Alas, even its violent head shaking could not dislodge it, and Erinys huffed in annoyance as she let him roost.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Mustafa said, before striding forward and beginning to descend.

"Should we not…" Walter began, about to suggest that they plan a more thoughtful approach, before noticing that the other two were now following suit. "Why do I even bother?" Walter chuckled, before following them down the stairs, and into the darkness.

Walter pushed to the front of the group, igniting a fire spell for illumination as he went. "Stay behind me, we do not know what awaits us down here," he warned. He wore the thickest armor out of the group; if anyone were to survive potential traps, it would be him. They reached the bottom of the stairs after a few minutes of descending, and Walter's jaw almost dropped. Before them lay a long, wide hallway, with a vaulted ceiling near as tall as Castle Ylisstol's Great Hall. The pillars supporting the distant ceiling were cracked and worn, and piles of desert sand pooled in the corners. Noting several braziers, he cast flames to each of them, and the hall was quickly illuminated in dim, red light. He could now see that every few feet along the edge of the halls, there were suits of armor of various makes, with weapons of every kind. Walter was disturbed to note, upon finding a lighter set of armor, that gray, papery skin was visible underneath; they were not statues. This was not a ruin, but a mausoleum. The four advanced forward slowly, cautiously, watching their surroundings carefully as they went.

"This is…unexpected," Phila said worriedly as they reached the halfway point of the hall, where a weathered stone slab sat conspicuously in the middle of the hall, almost like a gravestone. There was writing on it, but Walter could not recognize it. "If this is just the antechamber, this structure must be quite large."

"By the Sands," Mustafa gasped as he examined the slab.

"What is it?" Walter asked slowly.

"'This is the Thabes Labyrinth'," Henry read from beside Mustafa, his ever present grin widening. "'Let none set foot within its cursed halls.'"

"The Thabes Labyrinth?" Phila asked in shock, coming to look at the stone. The look on her face told Walter she could not read it either, but she looked back down the hallway worriedly. "There are legends of this place from the time of King Marth. King Albein and Queen Anthiese of Valentia were the last to enter these ruins. Despite their martial prowess, the same martial prowess that conquered both Zofia and Rigel and achieved deicide, they retreated from the Labyrinth and sealed the entrance behind them. They claim to have found something here, something horrid beyond comprehension, if the legends are true. At their behest, King Marth ordered the city of Thabes disbanded and torn down, all records of it to be expunged, and outlawed communicating its location at all, before using the Fire Emblem's power to seal the ruins as the Earth Dragons were sealed at the Dragon's Table. Or so the legends say."

"The legends of Plegia say much the same," Mustafa added grimly, causing Walter to frown in concern.

"Oooh man, Professor Naraj would _kill_ to be here right now," Henry giggled, turning the other threes' attention to him as he stared at the slab. "The Grimleal have sought out this place since the time of the First Exalt," he explained. "The 'why' of it is a big Grimleal secret, but their desire to find this place is definitely well known."

"Perhaps the dark magic in the air is not caused by Selene practicing dark magic," Walter said grimly, looking around more warily. "But perhaps caused by whatever it is that King Marth and the Valentian royalty were so afraid of."

"We should leave this place," Mustafa said, sounding almost scared. The tone sounded foreign, coming from the General, and Walter suddenly became quite worried. "We should leave at once, and destroy the building above so none can find it. There is naught to be found here but death."

"Are you afraid, Mustafa?" Walter asked, but not unkindly.

"Do you not hear it?" Mustafa whispered, his eyes darting around. Phila and Walter exchanged glances, before the pair shook their heads. "You do not hear the whispering?"

"Echoes of our own voice," Walter posited, though his voice was far less confident than he thought. As if bidden by Mustafa's words, he thought his ears detected the slightest of sounds, but dismissed it as paranoia. Before they could continue their discussion further, however, Henry walked briskly off, heading further into the ruins.

"Henry!" Mustafa shouted worriedly. "Henry, come back here!" The young sorcerer ignored Mustafa, however, and continued his purposeful stride farther down the hallway.

"After him!" Walter barked, before jogging after him. The other two quickly followed suit. "We likely tripped a magical ward or something. We must retrieve Henry and leave at once. We do not know what other surprises these ruins hold, and I'm not eager to find out."

They caught up to Henry as he stopped near a large stone door akin to a castle gate at the end of the hall. He was staring blankly up at a plaque above the door with the same writing on the slab, and Walter was worried to see the formerly creepily cheerful dark mage was no longer smiling.

"In Thabes lived an alchemist named Forneus, much praised for his genius" Henry intoned numbly, his voice monotone and dull. "In time, he would be feared by all."

"What?" Walter asked dumbly. Henry's response was to raise his arm, and dark magic briefly flared from it, striking the door. Walter moved to grab the boy, but was caught off guard by the tremendous stone doors wrenching slowly apart, the sheer weight of the doors causing the earth beneath them to shake. As the trio struggled to regain their balance, Henry took off again down the hallway that was behind those doors, unimpeded by the violently shaking earth. This time, the braziers in the next hall illuminated themselves.

"Henry, come back!" Mustafa pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears as the boy continued. "Blast!" he cursed, before they ran after him again.

"Two matters consumed Forneus," Henry stated in that same monotone voice as he reached another slab "and he spent his life in their pursuit…" he raised his hand again and cast a dark magic spell on the slab. Walter's sixth sense spiked sharply, and he most certainly heard the whispers now. Their words were unintelligible, but they carried an undercurrent of darkness that raised the hairs on Walter's neck. Judging from Phila and Mustafa's faces, they were hearing the same thing. As they glanced around warily, Henry strode off again, and the trio once again found themselves pursuing him.

"The first was…" Henry stated as he reached another slab, raising his hand. "how to raise the dead and control them as his army." He cursed this slab as he had the last, and a blast of fell wind whistled around them briefly, sending Walter's sixth sense into overdrive.

"Henry, stop!" Walter commanded, seizing the mage's shoulders and spinning him around. "You're going to activate some manner of trap if you keep this up!" Walter was disconcerted to note, however, that Henry's eyes were now lifeless; the boy was clearly not in his own head.

"Walter, we have a problem," Mustafa said gravely. Walter released the young sorcerer and turned to see Mustafa gesturing toward the ground; following his gesture, he noticed a large swarm of thick shelled, black beetles scurrying along the ground now, spreading out along the hallway.

"What are these?" Walter asked warily, stepping back.

"I have not seen the likes of these before," Mustafa said worriedly. "Let us grab Henry, and-Henry!" Mustafa shouted worriedly. Following Mustafa's gaze, Walter saw that Henry had continued down the hall once more, heedless of their presence, and was standing at another door. The trio cursed again and ran after him.

"The second was a creation of a singular, perfect being," Henry intoned, preparing to cast another spell at the door. Walter lunged to grab his arm, but was too slow; the spell was cast, and the door began opening, revealing a staircase leading below. As he went to stop Henry from striding forward blindly once more, he heard the sound of rasping breaths behind him. Whirling around, his face became grim; the interred soldiers that had been functioning as macabre decoration for the halls were now striding forward off of their pedestals, drawing weapons and turning toward the four intruders. Each of their eyes now glowed a baleful red, and they growled like feral animals.

"Risen!" Phila supplied unnecessarily as they began shambling forward.

"Protect Henry and keep up with him!" Walter ordered as Henry began striding forward once more. They couldn't stop him, not without hurting him; their only recourse was to follow the young silver haired sorcerer until the spell wore off and hope that he didn't trip any worse traps.

As if provoked by his order, the Risen charged forward then, brandishing weapons and snarling madly. Mustafa was the first to be engaged, narrowly avoiding a lance to the shoulder and burying his axe in the Risen's face in turn. Walter was next, narrowly ducking underneath a swordsman's blade, before ramming his shoulder into the walking cadaver to knock it off balance, then swinging his mace upward brutally, a resounding crack signaling the end of the Risen's unlife. Curiously, Walter noted that this Risen did not dissolve into smoke upon death. As Phila impaled another swordsman and Mustafa crushed an axe wielder's head beneath his boot, he noted that none of them did.

Walter spared a quick glance backward; Henry was gaining distance, nearly to the bottom of the stairs now. "Leapfrog backward!" He commanded. The others nodded briefly between their own bouts of combat, and Walter fell back behind them a ways, before casting spells over his comrades' heads. With the modicum of breathing room offered by Walter's spellcraft, the two then fell back themselves, Mustafa pulling a series of small throwing axes from his belt and throwing them at the encroaching horde. Phila, lacking throwing weapons of her own, functioned as the effective linchpin of the maneuver; her presence dictated where the lines of combat were.

And so the trio tactically retreated down the staircase, Walter nearly stumbling several times as particularly powerful blows imperiled his footing. As they reached the bottom, they heard Henry's voice again. Walter was disturbed to hear that there was an echo of a resigned, quiet voice beneath his own voice.

"The Council sent forth messengers to Forneus," the bewitched Henry intoned, sounding almost sad now. "None returned." The sound of another blast of dark magic on the slab that was in the center of the hallway, and the cries of more Risen followed next. Walter swore as he glanced behind him; the interred soldiers in the hall ahead of them were reanimating as well.

"Full retreat!" Walter ordered, casting a Kaleidoflamma spell. It swirled harmlessly around his friends, but scorched the Risen pursuing them. As he noticed his friends pulling back, he followed suit, periodically turning and casting more mid-level spells in the Risen's direction. Chain lightning struck down five or six at a time and pillars of ice erupted among the Risen ranks, but regardless, they continued to swell. They charged forward once more, and the trio was engaged in direct combat again.

"Next, the Council dispatched soldiers," Henry intoned, a different voice underlying his own. This voice sounded strong, confident; a voice Walter recognized as the voice of a warrior. The young man was standing in front of another door now. "Still none returned." He then cast a curse, and Walter was disturbed to hear a deep, clearly inhuman roar as the door opened.

"Make haste, fall back!" Walter ordered as he cast another chain lightning spell, following it up with another ice pillar. He knew the reprieve would not last long, but it might allow them to keep up with Henry.

The trio hurried after him, down another flight of stairs, the snarling and howling of Risen behind them. They emerged into a full, multi-tiered room this time, and Walter apprehensively noted that each tier held dozens of mummified soldiers. He noticed more beetles scurrying along the ground here as well. _Do they have something to do with these Risen? They were not present in the first chamber…_

"Thus the Council decided to seal Forneus workshop," Henry said, a more strong-willed, noble voice underlying his own, "with him inside of it." He cursed the slab, and Walter openly swore as the howling of yet more Risen sounded around him, the soldiers in this section of the ruins coming to unlife. Walter cast a Kaleidoflamma followed shortly by chain lightning, but stopped only long enough to ensure Mustafa and Phila were still alive and following; Henry was pulling ahead again, nearing the large, golden door at the end of the room, and they needed to keep up.

"The seal they used was made to last until the city crumbled to sand," Henry said imperiously in the same voice as before, raising his hand again. Walter prepared himself for the imminent battle; this door was more ornate than before, and he wagered that what was behind it was no mere Risen. There was a resounding, thunderous crack as Henry cast his spell on the door, and the resulting explosion pitched the boy clear back toward where Walter was standing.

"Henry!" he shouted worriedly, bending down, casting another lightning spell almost absentmindedly over his shoulder to hold the newly reanimating Risen at bay. He reached down and felt for a pulse; he was alive, Walter realized with a rush of relief, but he was deathly pale and clammy.

His examination of Henry was cut short, however, by a loud, ear-splitting screech. Then, what little light existed in the room dimmed briefly as a shadow passed over Walter's head. He threw himself over Henry as the shadow passed, shielding him from harm, and felt the ground shake violently as the shadow cleared him. Looking up, his face turned pale at what had interposed itself between them and the now opening door.

He had idly wondered once if one could make a Risen out of non-humans, and now he had his answer; the creature before him had the same long neck, the same broad wings, the same sharp claws, and the same fanged maw as Nowi. But that was where the similarities ended. Its flesh, what little wasn't actively sloughing off of its body, was a sickly green, and bones were clearly visible between the sections of flesh. Its wings held little webbing between the bones, the flesh having long since rotted away, and the brilliant scales that had undoubtedly covered the proud creature in life were all but gone, only small patches of them here and there across its mangled body. It gazed at him with empty eye sockets that glowed a faint red, growling hatefully at him. It gave off an odor so foul Walter nearly retched. The creature stood on its hind legs then, and let loose another ear-splitting, vision blurring roar that echoed off of the walls of the chamber.

"By the Sands, what is _that_?" Mustafa asked behind him in shock, before narrowly avoiding taking an axe to the stomach from the Risen he'd forgotten all about.

"May Naga preserve us," Phila breathed in horror, before crying out in pain as a sword bounced off her pauldron with enough force to bruise her, forcing her attention back to her opponent.

"Hold off the Risen!" Walter ordered as the creature lowered itself back down. "I'll face this creature myself."

"Are you mad, Walter!?" Phila practically screeched as she parried another lance and drove her own weapon through its neck. "You can't face that thing alone!"

"We have no choice!" Walter shouted back as the creature began stalking toward him. He quickly dragged Henry over to the slab and placed his back against it. "Don't let them through to Henry!" Without waiting for confirmation, he leapt forward to attack the creature.

Almost immediately, however, he switched tactics. The creature lunged forward with unnerving speed, and he dove sideways, just barely managing not to be crushed beneath the creature's rotten bulk. He lashed out as he regained his footing, and smiled in satisfaction as his mace struck with enough force to shatter one of the creature's ribs. It seemed unfazed, however, and Walter just barely managed to get his shield between him and the creature's backhanded retaliatory strike. He was forced to dive again as the creature's long neck snaked around, its jaws snapping at him madly. He lashed out against its face, and a large chunk of its skull was smashed clean off of it, but it was once again unfazed, and continued snapping madly at him. He rolled out of the way toward its back, casting a fire spell as he went, but the flame scattered harmlessly against its bones. Walter immediately cursed himself a fool; dragons, undead or not, would of course be resilient against fire. He was forced to roll out of the way again as its thick, rotted tail swung around, whooshing over his head with enough force to nearly pull Walter in its wake. When it collided with the stone wall nearby and shattered a piece large enough to carve his own likeness from, he was quite glad that it had missed.

The next few minutes passed in a near-panic as the Risen dragon tried its utmost to kill him, and Walter was quite honestly terrified to admit that he was utterly outclassed by the creature. He smashed and broke bones, carved off rotten flesh with the flanges of his mace, cast every offensive spell he knew, and still the monstrosity pursued him doggedly about the battlefield, showing neither pain nor fear, just simple, blinding rage as it failed to kill its target. A brief glimpse to his comrades showed that they were fighting on opposite sides of Henry, horrendously outnumbered by the ever-growing tide of Risen. Mustafa sported several wounds across his torso, and Phila was heavily favoring her right leg, and a torrent of blood was flowing from her shield arm. Her expression was agonized, but also furious, and her wounds didn't stop her from impaling her latest attacker, a lancer like herself. His worry took over his reason, and even as the Risen dragon turned from its latest failed lunge to charge him again, he stopped and raised his mace to the air, turning away from the threat. _Phila's life is more important,_ Walter thought almost detachedly as he felt the ground shake ever more violently as the beast neared.

"Curatio!" He cried, and a jet of light shot upward from his mace. It rose about halfway to the ceiling before erupting in a brilliant glow, and Walter felt his bruises quickly heal under its holy glow. He was pleased to see that Phila's blood stopped flowing, and physically saw Mustafa's injuries seal. Henry even groaned a bit, stirring slightly.

The most surprising part, however, was the agonized screeching that wailed around him.

The Risen, it appeared, were as fond of holy magic as the necromantic Orc Ghouls of Vellond; even as it healed his friends, the holy light burned away their necrotic flesh, causing them to flail and fall to the ground as if aflame. A series of small pops could be heard as well; looking down, he noticed the ever-present black beetles were outright exploding from the spell. Walter felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner; of course dark magic would react poorly to holy magic, it had done much the same with Erinys. An ear splitting screech sounded behind him, and Walter turned to see that the Risen dragon had fallen to the earth, clawing at its nonexistent eyes and writhing in agony. Its flesh sizzled and popped under the dying glow of the healing spell, and it let out an almost piteous moan. _At last!_ he thought almost cruelly, raising his mace again.

"Curatio!" He cried again, shooting another spell into the air. More of the Risen wailed and fell, and the dragon cried further, its flesh now falling off in large chunks. Yet more Risen filed into the chamber, however, and the dragon began regaining its footing. He cast again, and again, and again, falling to his knees as he burned through his mana and tapped directly into his own life force. _I must keep casting,_ he thought desperately, seeing more Risen flowing into the hall from the entrances. And so he did, continuing to cast spells, the healing magic just barely too little to stop his own body from tearing itself apart from the strain. Risen died in scores around the group of warriors, and Walter was hopeful when he noticed that the Risen horde was thinning at last; no more were being revived. He cast one last spell, right before his vision began fading. There were no accompanying wails this time, and as Walter closed his eyes, he saw the Risen dragon fall to the earth, giving one last piteous moan before its nearly bare skeleton fell apart completely.

 **AN:**

 **MOTHERFUCKING THABES Y'ALL**

 **For those who haven't played Shadows of Valentia's postgame and don't know where I am or what I'm talking about, just pay attention next chapter, everything shall be explained. Also, have a crack theory as to why it is never mentioned in any of the other games.**

 **Also Necrodragons weren't all wiped out by Alm and Celica. And they're still as giant of a pain in the ass. Yay for holy/seraphim magic!**

 **Also, I changed the geography of Thabes significantly, because fuck twenty million levels of dungeon crawling. An entryway, a Labyrinth, and whatever's beyond it, and that's all.**


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter 60**

 **The Thabes Labyrinth**

"He's waking up," a voice said in relief as Walter's mind slowly dragged itself back to the waking world. Along with the voice came the unfortunately familiar burning sensation of mana exhaustion. He let out a groan and tried to sit up, but a hand held his shoulder down firmly.

"Relax, friend, we're safe," the speaker said. He opened his eyes to see Mustafa peering down at him, visibly exhausted, but smiling in relief. "Thanks to you," he added.

"They're all gone, then?" Walter asked. Mustafa nodded, and Walter let out a sigh of relief. "Are the others alright?"

"Yes, Phila is currently scouting a path through the Labyrinth, and should be returning within minutes," Mustafa explained. "Henry woke up a little bit ago."

"I missed the party," the young sorcerer whined morosely as Walter was finally allowed to sit up, and leaned against the frame of the door they'd opened. Henry was still slumped against the slab Walter had set him against, but he was lucid, and his signature grin was still in place despite his despondent tone.

"You _caused_ that 'party'," Mustafa corrected sourly, glaring at the young man. "Why did you run off like that!?"

"He was bewitched, Mustafa," Walter told him. "He was not in his right mind."

"Yeah, what Walter said," Henry added, his grin faltering a bit. "I read off that first slab, heard a few voices, then everything went…dark," he said, shrugging a bit.

Mustafa's stern look softened. "I'm glad you're alright, then," he said gently. "I don't want to lose you too," he added, so softly that Walter almost didn't hear him.

"You said Phila was scouting a 'labyrinth'?" Walter inquired.

"Yes," Mustafa answered, turning back to the paladin. "When the Risen dragon died and you passed out, the door they were guarding opened. We took a quick peek, and saw that it was clearly a maze. The walls did not touch the ceiling, and we encountered four turns before we decided to pull back. Phila then volunteered to map it while we waited for you to recover."

"How long has it been?" Walter wondered.

"Nearly an hour," Mustafa responded. "She said she would return within an hour, so she should be back any minute."

Walter nodded wordlessly, and the trio lapsed into silence. Ten minutes came and passed, and Walter began to frown. Another five minutes passed, and Mustafa muttered softly to himself, clearly as worried as Walter was quickly becoming. After another ten minutes, Walter stood up so quickly and abruptly that Mustafa nearly jumped.

"Something's wrong," Walter said, peering into the dimly lit Labyrinth ahead of them. The walls and floors were made of rough-hewn stone and curved faintly, and the faint flickering of torchlight could be seen, though whether it was by a torch Phila was carrying or by wall-mounted torches, he did not know. "She should have been back by now, correct?" Mustafa nodded, looking into the Labyrinth too. "I'm going after her."

"That's not a good idea," Mustafa warned. "She's likely just gotten turned around, we should wait a little bit-"

"Absolutely not!" Walter barked, causing the other two to flinch. "If just the entrance to this God-forsaken place was trapped to the extent it was, it's all the more likely that this Labyrinth is full of other nightmarish tricks. You should not have let her go alone in the first place." Without waiting for a response, Walter began storming forward, drawing his mace and leveling his shield warily as he stepped across the door's threshold. Seconds later, Mustafa and Henry's footsteps and a lit torch fell in behind him, but Walter didn't spare much focus for them. Phila was alone in there, and he'd be damned if he lost her before their wedding.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they navigated the Labyrinth, which was lit periodically with wall mounted sconces. _We won't be finding Phila by torchlight,_ he thought disappointedly. Walter usually prided himself on his sense of direction, but the dozens of twists, turns, u-shaped halls, and dead ends were beginning to play havoc with even his mind. The trio was tensed for the expected traps, but surprisingly none were making themselves known. Footing was treacherous as well; the floor was simply rough hewn stone, and he was unnerved to see bones scattered here and there. Several times, one of them would trip on a rock or bone, sending a cascade of echoes across the curved walls of the Labyrinth, creating a cacophony of noise that almost certainly destroyed any semblance of stealth they had had. Now and again Walter would hear the grinding of stone, though he could not fathom the source.

"We're lost," Mustafa stated grimly after an indeterminate amount of time.

"All mazes have a start and an end," Walter stated definitively, turning back to look at the Plegian general. "We need only continue onward, and we will eventually reach the end."

"No, Walter, we've been by this corridor already," Mustafa argued, pointing to the floor. "This is where I last fell."

Walter was silent for a second, running over the path they'd taken in the last twenty minutes in his mind, before shaking his head. "You're mistaken," Walter insisted. "We haven't taken enough turns to get turned around in a circle."

"No, he's right," Henry argued, pointing at a particular bone on the ground. "I remember that bone, it's such an odd shaped little pinky bone. I wonder what it belonged to?"

Walter frowned. "Impossible," Walter reiterated, though sounding far less confident. It was then that he heard the sound of grinding stone again, and as he went to continue arguing, his expression faltered as he realized the situation they'd found themselves in, and he cursed. "The labyrinth is shifting around us," Walter concluded as the grinding noise stopped.

"The maze is shifting?" Mustafa asked, and Walter nodded. "By the Sands, this place is a nightmare…"

"So…how are we gonna get out of here?" Henry asked nervously, even his grin faltering.

The grinding noise started again, and Walter groaned in frustration. "By continuing forward," Walter stated as an idea came to him, before turning around and facing the wall.

"I fail to see how that will help," Mustafa said pointedly. "The Labyrinth will just shift again."

"Then we will simply make our own path," Walter concluded, raising his hand.

"Walter, that is solid stone," Mustafa argued. "Wind, nor fire, nor even lightning could possibly-"

He was cut off as a green light flashed from Walter's hand, and seconds later, a tremendous vine erupted from the Earth, plunging straight into the wall in front of Walter. The earth gave beneath the sheer force of the attack, and with a resounding crack, an entire section of the wall was blown apart. Walter winced a little as his barely-recovered magic reserves were depleted further. He wasn't going to be casting offensive spells, should they happen upon resistance.

"Oooohhh, that's a neat trick!" Henry exclaimed excitedly. "I wanna know that spell!"

"I will teach you when we escape from this accursed place," Walter said with a grin. "For now, onward." With that, he strode through the wreckage and came up near the next wall, raising his hand.

"Bloody mages," Mustafa said with a grin as another wall was blown apart, and he picked his way gingerly through the debris.

And so they made their way through the Labyrinth, Walter blasting holes through the walls every few seconds. The Labyrinth, somehow sensing their progress, began shifting more rapidly, but in the end Walter's spellcraft could not be stopped with simple parlor tricks. Once or twice they would come across a wall they'd already destroyed, and simply marched through it.

After a while, Walter frowned as he blew apart another wall. He was sure they had traversed into a section of the Labyrinth they hadn't touched yet, because none of the wall sconces were lit. _Phila must have been lighting them as she went,_ Walter concluded, his worry for his wife-to-be increasing. _Something stopped her partway through the Labyrinth._ So preoccupied with Phila's fate was he that by accident he ushered a full Vine spell forward, dozens of vines bursting forth and demolishing several walls at once. He felt the flesh on his arm split open as the magic demanded its price, whether he had the mana to pay or not.

"Is something wrong, Walter?" Mustafa asked worriedly as Walter stormed through the wreckage.

"The torches aren't lit anymore," Walter growled. Mustafa cursed as he came to the same realization Walter had. "We are running short on time. We must find Phila and escape this place quickly."

"And if we can't find her?" Henry asked as he gingerly stepped over a rather large chunk of rubble.

"We _will_ find her," Walter snarled, before something caught his eye as he stepped through the wall. A glint of silver was beneath the rubble. He reached down and tossed aside some of the wreckage, before cursing. It was the head of Phila's lance. He searched frantically for the rest of it, or for her bo- _don't even think that_ -, but found nothing beneath the rubble. Confused, he lifted up the spearhead to the torchlight, and frowned.

"This was severed by a weapon," Walter said worriedly as he examined the clean cut through the small piece of the oak shaft that was still attached to the spearhead. "Something attacked Phila in here."

"More Risen?" Mustafa asked warily, hefting a smaller war axe on his belt, still holding the torch.

"Doubtful," Walter said. "Risen aren't known for the patience or restraint required for ambushes. The reports we get from our scouts say their tactics amount to 'charge at the enemy in a straight line'. No, there's someone else down here."

"Selene?" Henry suggested.

"Most likely," Walter said grimly. "Even if it's not, whoever attacked Phila here was armed and hostile. Be on your guard." With that, he pocketed Phila's spearhead and continued forward through the wreckage.

Several minutes and one final blasted wall later, they finally were free of the Labyrinth. They did not have time to rejoice, however; standing in front of them in the small room at the end of the Labyrinth was a woman wearing a black robe, her face shadowed by a hood, holding a finely crafted steel sword to a kneeling, bound, and gagged Phila's throat.

Walter raised his mace and his face fixed into a snarl. "Drop the blade," he said shortly.

"Funny, I was going to say the same to you," the woman remarked blithely.

"You're outnumbered and overpowered," Mustafa countered, dropping the torch and drawing his main two-handed axe. "If you kill her, there's nothing to stop us from crossing the room and severing your head from your shoulders. Drop the blade and we can talk peacefully."

"Wow, manners have really gone into the gutter since I was last to the civilized world," The woman snarked. "You break into my home, kill all of my guards, destroy my Labyrinth, and have the gall to suggest that I'm somehow in the wrong here?"

"This is your last chance," Walter growled. "Drop the blade."

"No, this is _her_ last chance," the woman corrected, shifting her sword just enough to make a slight cut on Phila's neck. The veteran winced, and Walter felt a spike of fear go through his body. "Drop your weapons or I kill her, and take my chances against the rest of you."

"I'm not a gambling man, miss, but that's a really poor gamble," Henry cackled, dark magic flaring to life in his hands.

"Is it really such a poor gamble, Henry?" the woman asked, and the sorcerer's mouth dropped. "I know who you are. You look just like your father, and your father could never match me in spellcraft and married a woman even more mediocre at the art, so I doubt you're any better." She turned her head to Mustafa as Henry spluttered indignantly. "I remember you, of course, Validar met with you a few times. I know your fighting style very well, actually, so I'm confident I could take you." Her head turned back to Walter. "You're the only one I don't know, but blowing through twenty or thirty walls with spellcraft after fighting off my Risen has to have you feeling drained, and a mace is a poor choice against a sword." Walter didn't let it show on his face, but he was quite unnerved at how accurate her assessment was. He was extremely tired, and the fact that she had disarmed Phila, despite the pegasus knight's experience, told him as much as he needed to know about her swordplay; in short, it was superb. "So, once again, drop your weapons, and we can talk this over peaceably. Or you can be stupid, stubborn men and insist on getting this lovely woman killed. Either way, I'm the one who's most likely to walk out of this alive. Take your time."

"Walter?" Mustafa asked worriedly, glancing between the woman and Walter repeatedly.

Walter glared hot death at the woman, before looking down to where Phila was kneeling. She was glaring heatedly at him, clearly telling him to not do precisely what he was thinking about doing. _Forgive me,_ he mentally sighed, before casting his mace to the ground. Seconds later, Mustafa cursed and dropped his own axe, and Henry blew a raspberry as he lowered his hands and the magic dissipated.

"Thank you," the woman said smugly, before raising her sword. Walter was about to reach down for his mace, even knowing that he'd be nowhere quick enough to stop her, but the woman simply severed the ropes holding Phila's arms behind her back and stepped away. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"Phila, are you alright?" Walter asked, ignoring the woman, rushing forward to Phila's kneeling form, but he was rocked backward by a punch to the face as he reached her.

"You damned fool!" Phila snapped as she stood up, shaking her hand gingerly. "What in the nine hells were you thinking!? She could have killed all of us! I don't know what they teach you in Bersia, but you _never_ negotiate with someone who takes a hostage, you idiot!"

Walter simply embraced her as she took another breath to continue berating him. "I'm so glad you're alright," he whispered in her ear. Phila tensed up momentarily, before sighing in relief and returning the embrace.

"Aww, that's so sweet," the woman mocked from nearby. Walter quickly released Phila, blushing faintly, and turned to appraise the woman. She had let her hood down, and he took in a rather comely face that was more or less his own age, and long, shoulder length brown hair that had a few gray strands in it already. Her eyes matched her hair, and she was smiling cockily. The smile was almost familiar for some reason, but he couldn't place it.

"Thank you for honoring your word," Walter stated.

"Well, it beats fighting three people to the death," the woman said with a shrug, still smiling. "My name is Selene, and welcome to my home."

000

"So, what brings you all to this lovely little corner of the arse end of the world?" Selene asked lightly as she gave them each a cup of water. After the situation had been defused, she'd led them into her living quarters. They were rather sparse, with only simple furniture and no decoration to speak of, with a small bookcase against one wall, most of its contents of a military or magical nature. The woman had a surprisingly extensive library, however, and books were stacked over nearly every surface that was visible. There was a fine oak door on the opposite end of the chamber, Walter guessed it was a hidden exit of some sort. A small rack of basic iron weapons rounded out the sparse contents of the room. She'd seated them at the sole table she had, and given them all various objects to sit on once the two chairs she'd had were taken up. Mustafa was sitting on an empty barrel, and Henry was sitting atop a stack of books.

"Do you really need us to answer that question?" Walter asked shortly. Selene was a little too chipper, especially considering the situation they all found themselves in, and he was quickly losing patience with her.

"Yes, actually," Selene countered lightly, not being bothered by Walter's serious tone at all. "There are plenty of reasons someone could come to the ruins of Thabes, and very few of them have anything to do with me directly. So I ask again: what brings you here?"

"We are searching for your son," Phila answered for Walter, and Selene stiffened up, her smile finally fading a bit. "We know what he is, and the King of Ylisse has ordered us to locate and detain him."

Selene laughed at that, and Walter cocked an eyebrow. "Oh dear, I fear your King has sent you on a wild goose chase," Selene chortled. "If he wanted to 'detain' my son, he'd have done it already."

"This is no time for japes," Mustafa said grimly. "The Avatar of Grima's very existence is a danger to all living things. You need to take this seriously."

Selene's laughter cut off abruptly, and she leaned over Mustafa, who leaned back in surprise at the sudden aggressive action. "Don't try to tell me how dangerous my son is," she snapped with a hitherto unknown amount of vehemence, even slamming her fist on the table. "You weren't there when that bastard Validar tried to use him to summon his dark god. I know better than anyone else in this room, than most of the people on this continent, how dangerous my son is." Her face softened then and she stood up straight, her smile back in place, albeit a bit strained now. "Besides, what fun is life without a sense of humor?"

"If you acknowledge the danger he poses, then you'll tell us where he is," Walter stated, his hand drifting to the handle of his mace under the table.

"No, I won't," Selene said, standing up straight and turning her glare on Walter. "I won't have my son hunted down and murdered like a dog. If he's fled from you, it wasn't to here, and you will receive no aid from me in tracking him down and killing him. You are all far too intelligent to believe that a mother would help her own son be murdered."

"We've no intention to murder your son, Selene," Phila corrected, her tone soothing. "King Chrom simply wishes to ensure he remains out of the hands of the Grimleal. We're under orders to detain him, only using violence if he resists."

Selene eyed Phila critically, before sighing. "As I said, your King has led you on a wild goose chase," she repeated. "Your King knows exactly where my son is, even if he doesn't know who he is, and I can assure you that if what I've heard is true, then he is no threat to you at all."

"What makes you say that?" Walter asked dubiously. "His very existence is a threat, as you know. Why do you think that he's no threat to us?"

"Because he's my son," Selene answered proudly. "Not Validar's son, _mine._ "

"That is…less than helpful," Phila said diplomatically as Walter tried to sustain his faltering patience, letting out a strangled noise as he bit back the tirade that he so sorely wished to launch at Selene. "Would you please explain in more detail?"

"Mustafa," Selene said by way of answer, "What is Validar like?"

"Cruel, cunning, and most decidedly evil," Mustafa said shortly. "He craves power, and the things I suspect he did to seize the Plegian throne makes my stomach turn. The only thing more important to him than himself is Grima, and I'm frankly not sure which scares me more."

"Precisely," Selene said. "My son is nothing like him. Not to pat myself on the back, but I raised a fine son. He's a good boy, he values friendship, love, loyalty, respect, decency…and given where he now lives and works, I can assure you that he won't lay a finger on your King, nor will he willingly aid the Grimleal."

Walter's brow furrowed. "And tell us: where does he now live?"

Selene waggled a finger. "That would be telling," she said teasingly, and Walter growled in frustration. "Oh, don't be sour. I understand why you're here, but he's my son. I can't just let him be locked up for something he has no control over. I'm sorry, but your search was pointless."

"We could _make_ you tell us," Walter said threateningly, standing and fully gripping the handle of his mace. The others froze, surprised that Walter took such an aggressive action.

Selene simply raised an eyebrow and laughed again. "Oh please," she said dismissively. "Anything you could think of to do to me isn't even half of what I've already endured at Validar's hands, and I stand before you now, as unbroken as ever. By all means, do your worst. I'll die before I betray my son," she finished with conviction.

Walter glared at her, and Selene met it with a bemused grin, until he snorted and sat back down. "So, what, we're simply to accept your assurances that he's no harm and be on our way? I'm sorry, but we'll need something more concrete than that."

"Well, I'm sorry I can't provide you with your necessities, but that's all I'm willing to say on the matter," Selene said stubbornly. "My son has done nothing wrong."

"It's not that he's a criminal," Phila said, "it's that he's too dangerous to be left alone and unwatched. If the Grimleal find him before we do, all will come to ruin. We don't intend to throw him in a dungeon, more along the lines of keeping him as a ward, as if he was born of a foreign dignitary. He will live in comfort."

"A gilded cage is still a cage, but that's not important. The Grimleal already know where he is," Selene said, sounding almost bored, and the four froze. "They've known for almost a year now. But thanks to my son's cunning, they can't seize him without causing an international incident. You've nothing to fear in that regard. If the Grimleal ever capture my son, then your kingdom will already be razed to the earth and the Exalted Line dead and broken. You won't be around to be worried about the Fell Dragon's return."

Walter frowned as he contemplated that. "Why would the Grimleal going after your son cause an international incident?" he asked, confused.

"You're smart, I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said flippantly, waving her hand at him, causing Walter to feel a spike of anger. "This discussion is over, I'm afraid. I've already said far too much. I apologize that your trip out here was wasted, but I can offer something in compensation."

"And what would that be?" Mustafa asked curiously.

"Do you know where we are?" Selene asked amusedly.

"The ruins of the ancient city of Thabes," Mustafa answered, nonplussed. "The slabs in the entryway alluded to an alchemist named Forneus and some horrid work involving necromancy."

"Yes, Forneus created the first Risen," Selene said with a nod, "but that's not his largest, or most horrid, accomplishment."

Walter's blood ran cold. _What could be worse than Risen?_ "And what would that be?" Walter asked aloud.

Selene gestured to the closed door that they hadn't come through. "You're standing in the birthplace of the Fell Dragon," she stated grimly. "Forneus created Grima."

 **AN:**

 **WE MEET ROBIN'S MOM YEEEAAAHH (not that the others know it)**

 **SHE'S JUST AS MUCH OF A BLITHE SMARTASS AS HER SON**

 **I also dump a big ol' bombshell on our intrepid heroes.**

 **Have any of y'all ever walked a maze before? They're annoying. If I could conjure magic to blow a hole in them, I totally fucking would.**


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61**

 **The Fell Dragon's Cradle**

Walter stood on the precipice of the cavern, frowning over its expanse. The door Selene had gestured to after her grave announcement simply led to a large, deep cavern, wide enough to hold two of the Feroxi Coliseum. Walter's neck hairs were on end; the entire cavern reeked of dark magic, far more so than any other part of the ruins. The dark resonance was so strong that Phila and Mustafa were practically suffocated by it, and Henry complained of hearing voices again, so the three had returned to Selene's quarters while Walter observed the scene before him.

"Grima was born here?" He asked Selene, who was beside him.

"Yes," she answered, looking out over the giant bowl-shaped cavern next to him. "I will give you Forneus' notes when you leave, but the short version is that he used the blood of a Divine Dragon, some dark magic, and processes I can't even understand to give birth to the blight of mankind."

"Why?" Walter asked quietly.

"Forneus wished to create the perfect life form," Selene responded. "I can understand little of his ramblings, but that's what I gathered from them."

"By what stretch of the imagination is that foul wyrm perfect?" Walter growled. "It is a harbinger of death and ruin, the very sight of it enough to spur an Exalt to commit genocide to prevent its return. How is that 'perfect'?"

"Grima is powerful enough to be considered a god," Selene answered dully. "He is immortal, a wellspring of dark magic, not beholden to the requirements of food or sleep that all other life is; he devours the souls of the living, but more for the extra power than necessity. He is even immune to the blight that forced the dragons to assume human form to survive, becoming manaketes. He is the last true dragon, and powerful beyond all except Naga, and even she could not obliterate his soul utterly in the time of the First Exalt. Simple rumors of his existence led to the creation of the Grimleal in the days of the First Exalt, and far more were subjugated to his will in that campaign. From every standpoint but a moral one, he is indeed perfect."

"Yet that moral standpoint is the most important one," Walter argued. "However 'perfect' Grima is from a practical standpoint, he cannot be allowed to live again."

"You will receive no argument from me," Selene chuckled wryly. "It's why I took my son and ran from the Grimleal." She frowned then, and sighed heavily. "I curse my blood almost every day. Were it not for us, the First Exalt might have laid low the Fell Dragon permanently. Without our blood, there would be no way to revive him."

"What is so special about your blood?" Walter asked, curious. "Why does the Fell Dragon require such a specific bloodline for his Avatar?"

"Because we are the direct descendants of Forneus," Selene answered almost ashamedly, and Walter's jaw almost dropped. "Forneus was Grima's first Avatar. Forneus used a shard of his own soul as a building block upon which to create Grima's. Grima used that shard, that connection, to enslave him. He was then marked with the Brand of the Defile. His bloodline shares his curse," she said, pulling down the neck of her robe enough for a very faint mark to be seen on her collarbone, the same mark that was tattooed on Tharja's arm and Robin's hand. "All Grimleal mark themselves with this as a rite of initiation, but only those of Forneus' line are born with it. We are all cursed to be potential bearers of Grima's soul. We of Forneus' blood are a sick, twisted counterpart to the Exalted Line, which was blessed with Naga's grace for their service to mankind. The only others who are born with Mark this are the Grimleal Hierophant's line, Validar's line."

Walter placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am terribly sorry," he said sincerely. "I cannot imagine such a burden."

"None outside of Forneus' clan can," Selene sighed, but smiled at him thankfully. "But enough of such grim matters. Come, let us…" she trailed off, before frowning.

"Is something wrong?" Walter asked.

"Someone just tripped the ward in the first chamber," Selene said worriedly.

Walter frowned. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Selene said, glancing about warily. "I'm certain. But without the Risen, and with the Labyrinth in disrepair, this place is vulnerable. Were you expecting anyone else to follow you?"

"No," Walter responded, before drawing his mace. "But we recently fought a battle at a Grimleal temple. They must have followed us here. Is there another way out?"

"Yes," Selene answered, "another entrance on the other side of this chasm leads out into the desert. But they will simply follow us again. We must make a stand here," she said determinedly, drawing her own sword.

Walter put his hand on her sword, however, and forced her to lower it. "No. You will escape this place, and we will hold them off."

"You would do that?" Selene asked incredulously, before giving him a shrewd look. "Why? You've shown little care about my safety so far, going as far as to threaten to torture me. Why do you care so much now? Oh, there goes the third ward," she added almost as an offhand thought.

"Because it is the best course of action," Walter answered, drawing a puzzled look from Selene. "I threatened you because I saw the Avatar as a greater threat, the _greatest_ threat. I'm not convinced he isn't still vulnerable to the Grimleal, but you will not yield, and a time may come later where you're more forthcoming with your information about him."

"So, you're saving me now to wring me for information later?" Selene said dryly.

"Yes, but also because you are an honorable woman," Walter stated, making Selene's jaw drop a bit. "You honored your word, releasing Phila, despite the fact that it could have meant your death had we decided to attack. You have done no wrong, to us nor Ylisse. You do not deserve to die at the hands of the Grimleal, or worse, be captured and brought before Validar. I know little of your 'marriage' to him, but I doubt he has anything pleasant in store for you should he see you again. My sense of caution implores me to kill or capture you, but…well, my son would have insisted on letting you go. I'm trying to be the man he thought I was, to honor his memory. Now flee, quickly. I will rally the others. Where might we best mount a defense?"

"Before, I would have said at the exit to the Labyrinth with someone operating the shifting mechanisms, but with all of the holes you blew in it, it's useless now," Selene said, looking at Walter curiously, likely over the comment about his son. "You'd be best served by fighting along the Cradle's edge", she said, gesturing to the ground they were standing on, that wrapped all the way around the basin. "It's barely wide enough to fit two people, and it will serve to funnel their numbers. If you split their forces around either side, it will weaken them further."

"This will put them uncomfortably close behind you," Walter warned. "If they pass by us, they will likely come for you next."

"Oh, I can handle myself," she chuckled, lifting her sword a bit and briefly conjuring a fireball. "If you can hold them off long enough, it won't be a concern anyway. Before you leave, Forneus' notes are in the cabinet near my bedside table, in a series of dark violet notebooks. Take them or burn them, your choice. The Grimleal _must not_ get hold of them. They could possibly use it to resurrect Grima in an impure avatar, or worse, create another Fell Dragon…They broke the last ward. They're entering the Labyrinth now."

Walter shuddered at the thought of another Grima. "I understand. Go, quickly."

"Alright," she said, and turned to run away. As Walter reached for the door handle back into her quarters, she stopped and turned around. "And thank you, sir."

"For what?" Walter asked.

"For giving me this chance," she replied. "May I have your name?"

"Walter," he responded.

"I will remember it,." She vowed, before turning and running down the path. Walter watched her for a second, his mind imploring him to stop her, but he shook his head and turned away from her. Walter hurried back into Selene's quarters to see Phila and Mustafa already on their feet and readying weapons, with Henry pushing the sparse furniture up against the door.

"Henry said that the 'ruins were telling him that there were intruders'," Phila said by way of explanation as Walter shot her an inquisitive look. She was clutching one of the lances from Selene's weapons rack. "Then we heard shouting in the Labyrinth."

"We must have been followed," Walter told her. "Selene is escaping. We will buy her some time and then retreat ourselves after retrieving Forneus' notes." With the order given, he started toward the cabinet Selene had specified.

Phila raised an eyebrow as he opened the door of the cabinet. "You let her go?"

"Yes," Walter said, a bit defensively as he found Forneus' notes. "Why?"

"I'm proud of you," Phila said with a warm smile, catching Walter off guard and nearly causing him to drop one of the notebooks. "From some of the stories you've told me, you would normally have tried to stop her."

"I should have," Walter said bitterly, as he slipped the four volumes of Forneus' notes into the pouch on his waist. "Her existence is almost as dangerous as her son's. If she can beget one Avatar, she could potentially beget another. I should have killed or captured her to prevent that."

"But you didn't, because letting her go was the right thing to do," Phila reiterated, drawing close to him and pecking him on the cheek. "And I'm proud of you for it."

"We will see in time if it was the right thing," Walter sighed, but smiled faintly at Phila's praise. The moment was short lived, however, as banging sounded on the door. The four briefly stopped and looked warily at the door, before bolting into action. "Out the door, mind the edge of the pathways! Mustafa, Henry, you go left. Phila and I will go right." Walter lingered behind as the three rushed past him, watching the now rattling door. A second later, a blast of dark magic blew the door and the furniture behind it into smoking rubble. Walter wasted no time in sending a lance of chain lightning into the breach, and was rewarded with the sounds of several men screaming. He wasted no more time, however, and followed the others out into the Fell Dragon's Cradle, slamming the door closed behind him.

He fell in beside Phila, taking the inner edge of the cliff (after all, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, to stand nearer to the gaping chasm of death). Across from them, Henry and Mustafa were moving along in their own formation, with Mustafa in front and Henry behind. Within seconds, their pursuers burst through the oak door violently, probably expecting more resistance. The door gave easily, however, and the poor sod that had breached the door tumbled forward from his momentum and fell over the lip of the chasm. Walter tuned out his screams as the man fell into the darkness, the sounds coming to a sudden stop almost a full minute later.

By then, however, the man's compatriots had made it out onto the pathways, and they began branching out to follow the four. An axeman charged forward once they'd gotten close enough to Walter and Phila, and was repaid for his enthusiasm with a lance to the throat. As Phila kicked him off and his body tumbled over the edge, there were no screams. The next soldier, a swordsman, thought to try his luck against Walter, perhaps thinking his more lightly armored form would give him a speed advantage against the heavily armored paladin. Alas, the narrow walkway deprived the swordsman of any real maneuvering opportunity, and his offensive was cut short by a well placed mace to the skull.

Walter heard an explosion in the distance, and some cackling; he spared a brief glance to see Henry nearly doubled over in laughter, the smoking remains of Mustafa's opponent falling limply to the ground, with Mustafa trying to put out a small fire that had sprouted in his beard. Walter had to turn his eyes from the amusing sight, however, as a young-looking Grimleal lancer leapt forward, somehow thinking that his lance would do something against the three millimeter-thick plating Walter wore. Predictably, the lance skidded off of the lion's visage on his breastplate harmlessly, and since he'd overcommitted to the strike, he practically leapt onto Phila's lance of his own accord. The next attack was more coordinated; a pair of swordsmen darted forward at once, barely managing to find space for their maneuvers on the narrow pathway. Walter quite nearly lost his eye (and most likely his life) to a well-aimed stab, but he was able to parry the blow and kick his assailant in the chest, sending him tumbling from the edge. Phila's opponent met his end a second later, a quick feint toward his ribs distracting him long enough for Phila to stab him in a more lethal portion of his torso, right about where his liver was. Another explosion denoted another of Henry's spells, and Walter nearly snorted in amusement as he heard Mustafa begin berating the young man, undoubtedly for nearly setting him ablaze again.

They fought like that for a while, retreating slowly but surely as the Grimleal practically threw themselves on their weapons. He had to respect their dedication, at the least, even if it was to some horrendous laboratory experiment. Their numbers were worrying, however; at this point Walter had already slew twenty of them, Phila with approximately the same count, and yet the line of soldiers still extended back to the door to the Labyrinth, and likely beyond. They were still barely a quarter of the way across the chasm. Walter considered using a Vine spell to destroy the floor, but he wasn't sure how stable the cavern was, and didn't want to risk Phila's life in such a manner.

So absorbed was he in his worry over the rapidly deteriorating situation that he almost didn't heed Phila's warning to get back; as it was, he was just a smidgen too slow, and something exploded in front of him. He was pitched backwards by the force, landing on his back and skidding so close to the edge that his arm and head were dangling over the abyss beyond.

"Mire snipers!" Phila shouted in frustration. As Walter lay there, dazed, he saw a small green light appear near the other pair's position, far across the chasm, before it rapidly expanded and detonated, sending Mustafa flying into the cavern wall. "We need to move faster," she continued as she pulled Walter to his feet. "Mire spells are hard to aim, if we move fast enough we'll avoid the worst of it."

"Right," Walter affirmed as he regained his footing, just in time to meet his next combatant, an axeman. Quite quickly into their duel, however, Walter saw a small green spark appear behind his opponent. Abandoning his defense against the axeman, he hopped backwards, just in time for the Mire spell to blast apart the axeman's back.

"They would sacrifice their own for a mere chance at hitting us?" Walter fumed incredulously. "Have they no honor!?"

"They're Grimleal," Phila answered as she avoided a similar situation on her side of the walkway. "The only thing that matters to them is serving their dark master."

Indeed, the Grimleal footmen didn't even hesitate upon seeing what had been done to their comrades; instead they became even more aggressive. Walter soon found himself taxed to defend against both the reckless assaults and the now incredibly frequent Mire detonations. More of the Grimleal died to friendly fire than to Walter and Phila now, but still they pressed on. They were halfway across the cavern, now, and Mustafa and Henry were too far away to make out clearly. He could see several Mire spells going off across the long abyss, so he assumed they were still alive and fighting. As he avoided a sword followed by a Mire spell, however, something caught his ear.

Wing beats.

Walter turned his head to the source of the sound and cursed; the Plegians had somehow managed to get some of their Dark Fliers down into the Cradle.

"Phila!" Walter shouted warningly.

"I hear them," she snarled, driving her lance through the opposing lancer, and pulling his body forward with it to use as a shield against a Mire spell. "You cruel bastards!" She screamed as the squadron strafed by, hurling a mixture of javelins and spells at them that they barely managed to avoid.

Walter cast a fire spell at the last one as it passed, but it barely affected the creature; their magical resistance was simply too high. "I never thought I'd say this," he grunted as he ducked below an axe swing and gave a vicious uppercut with his mace in return, "but I wish Virion was here right now."

"Or Stahl," Phila added, parrying an opposing lance and leaping back from a Mire spell. "Or Vaike, I heard saw that can use a bow now."

"Unfortunately, we do not have that luxury," Walter growled as he thrust his shield forward, buffeting the opposing swordsman back long enough to swing his mace horizontally, knocking the man over the cliff. Predictably, a Mire spell was right behind it, and Walter nearly lost his footing from the concussive force. He hadn't even managed to regain his footing before the Dark Flier squadron flew by again, hurling more projectiles. This time, a javelin connected with his breastplate, failing to pierce it but knocking the wind out of him. A fire spell soon followed, scorching his left pauldron and causing him to cry out in pain.

"We can't keep fighting like this!" Phila shouted as she barely avoided a barrage of projectiles herself, before narrowly missing having her head take leave of her shoulders courtesy of an axe swing.

"I have one idea," Walter said warningly, thinking back to his earlier thought, "but it may very well kill us both." The Dark Flier squadron passed by Mustafa and Henry's position, and he saw their distant forms scrambling to evade the fliers, before they began circling back toward them.

"Just do it!" Phila cried as a Mire spell threw her into the wall. "We won't survive this much longer otherwise."

Walter nodded, before pooling his unfortunately low pool of mana into one last spell; seconds later, dozens of vines erupted among the Plegian ranks, before pouring out noxious gas that liquefied the flesh of anyone fortunate enough to avoid the vines themselves. Walter was pleased to see a dark mage thrown clear from the edge of the cliff by them; one of the Mire casters was down, and the Vine spell had destroyed the pathway, barring the foot soldiers from advancing. Unfortunately, there was more than one Mire sniper, and Walter barely managed to get his shield between him and the retaliatory strike.

As Walter regained his composure, a resounding crack echoed across the cavern, and he felt the earth beneath his feet shift. Not even taking the time to look down, he grabbed Phila's arm and wrenched her around, pushing her forward. Realizing what was happening she quickly took off, all pretense of defense forgotten. Walter was right behind her, scrambling to get away even as he felt the earth starting to give way beneath his feet.

Their frantic flight lasted only a minute or so, but it was perhaps one of the most harrowing minutes of Walter's life. When they finally stopped sprinting, Walter looked back to see that several hundred meters of the cliff had collapsed. Even the Mire casters were too far away to cast now. As an Ecclesian proverb said though, there was no rest for the wicked, and he saw the Dark Flier squadron circling around toward them again.

"Damn it all!" Phila shouted in frustration as she saw what he did. "Is there no end to this!?"

As the Dark Flier squadron closed in on them for the kill, a powerful wind spell erupted amongst their ranks; three of the seven were felled immediately, their leader included, and the others broke ranks immediately to avoid the deadly barrage. Another fell to a second wind spell. The survivors peeled off for the entrance to the cavern, soundly defeated. Walter turned to see Selene lowering her hand, and the woman turned to look at him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she said snidely as Walter gaped at her in shock. "Your friends are still being attacked on the other end of the chasm."

"I thought you had fled," Walter said. "I _told_ you to flee!"

"And you should be grateful I didn't," Selene answered. "Now, let's go help your friends." Without waiting for a response, she turned and began jogging along the edge of the chasm.

"It appears it _was_ the right thing to do," Phila said with a cheeky grin as she sauntered past him, before breaking into a run after Selene.

Walter stood there dumbfounded for a second, before shaking his head and grumbling "Women…" He then took off after the pair.

After several minutes of jogging, they passed the opposite end of the cavern from the door they'd entered from. Walter noted a ladder leading upward, but continued past it. He could hear the sounds of Mustafa and Henry fighting clearly now. As he finally made visual contact and rushed past Selene and Phila to assist them, however, the ground for several meters in front of the beleaguered pair erupted in boiling magma, obliterating the cliff face. Walter then noticed several Mire spells erupt in the Plegians own ranks, and turned to see Selene lowering her hand with a smug grin on her face.

"Checkmate," she stated succinctly. The enemy was still there, but now they were cut off from their pursuit of the five. Selene then turned to Walter. "You're welcome," she said pointedly.

"Thank you, truly," Walter said, bowing slightly. "We might not have made it if not for you."

"You gave me a chance," Selene said seriously. "I like to think I repay my debts."

"You've more than repaid them, as far as I'm concerned," Mustafa spoke up as he and Henry approached. Walter was concerned to see that Mustafa was bleeding in several places and had a significant portion of his beard burnt off. "I think we owe you now."

"You owe me nothing," Selene responded. "Now, I think we've all spent enough time down here, I especially. Let's get out of this dank pit."

000

"It was a pleasure meeting you all," Selene said with a genuine smile as the three stood over the hidden entrance to the Fell Dragon's Cradle. "I haven't had this much fun in years."

"If this is what you consider fun, I'd hate to see what you consider stressful," Phila said tiredly, and the group got a bit of a laugh out of it.

"If you have need of us in the future," Walter said, extending his hand to her, "you've but to ask."

"I doubt I will, but it's nice to know," she said cheerily, taking Walter's hand and shaking it.

"Where will you go now?" Mustafa asked concernedly. "This was probably the best hiding spot in Plegia. I doubt there's anywhere else like it."

"Perhaps not quite as secure, but there are places far more remote that I know of," Selene responded. "Or perhaps I will take a vacation to Jugdral, I've never been there before. I may even go back to Valm, but I don't wish to draw the Grimleal there after me... Whatever I do, you need not worry about me. I haven't evaded the Grimleal all of these years with a child in tow by lacking wits."

"We could likely find a place for you in Ylisse," Phila offered. "I noticed a most of your tomes were about battlefield tactics and spellcraft, and you're clearly capable. We could easily find a place for you in the Army."

"From what I hear, you've a tactician far more capable than I in service to the King already," Selene responded, a strange look in her eye, "but I appreciate the offer. No, I believe that I will be just fine on my own."

"As long as you're sure," Walter responded, "then I say it was a pleasure to meet you as well."

"Thank you, Walter," Selene responded, bowing slightly, before turning and walking away. She was at the top of a dune before she stopped and turned around. "If you really need to find the Avatar," Selene called to them, "then tell your King to look to his right!" With that, she crested the dune and disappeared from sight.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mustafa asked, confused.

"Her meaning will make itself evident soon, I wager," Walter said with a sigh. The woman was vague beyond belief and frustratingly blithe and chipper, but he was sure she wouldn't purposefully mislead them. "But our mission is over, I suppose. It's time to go home."

000

"After Selene departed, we made our way back to Ylisse with all haste," Walter finished with a deep exhale. Upon returning to Ylisstol, Chrom had immediately dismissed the Court and pulled the four into a conference room to debrief them. And so they sat at a long table, with Chrom at its head, Frederick beside him as ever, and the others seated in various places along the table.

"That's quite a tale," Chrom said with a grin, before frowning. "However, I'd already heard about the first part of your tale. Plegia sent a messenger requesting an official statement regarding sightings of our Grand General at an attack on a major Grimleal institution. Robin and Sumia managed to worm our way out of it, but…well, was attacking them really necessary?"

"Not really," Henry said with a shrug. "Unless you _didn't_ want Mustafa and I to die, anyway. I wouldn't mind so much, personally, but Mustafa seems rather adverse to death and dismemberment."

"You're right about that, lad," the Plegian general chuckled.

Chrom gave Henry a long, curious glance, as if noticing him for the first time. "I've heard some rumors about you, Henry. A dark magic prodigy from a long line of sorcerers and witches, famous for being followed by a murder of crows."

"Isn't it so neat how they call a flock of crows a murder?" Henry giggled in response. "But yep, that's me! And they're ravens, not crows. But it's definitely me they're talking about. Unless someone else has their own murder, of course. I mean, there's a lot of murder going on in Plegia, and I may or may not have done some of it myself, but…where was I going with this?"

The others present simply stared at the man for an uncomfortably long period, before Chrom finally spoke up. "Seeing as how you're likely not going to be welcomed back at that Academy," Chrom asked slowly, "would you like to serve in the Shepherds? You'll be given free access to our mages' archives, and free to pursue whatever experiments you desire, so long as they will not bring harm to Ylisse or its people."

"But harmful experiments are the _best_ experiments!" Henry protested, before his signature grin widened even further. "But yeah, I like the sound of that. It beats listening to Professor Naraj drone on about the Fell Dragon all day, at any rate."

"Excellent," Chrom said with a smile. "Frederick, escort Henry to the barracks and introduce him to the others."

"Right this way, young man," Frederick said in a tone that clearly stated he did not wish to be alone with the likely-unhinged young sorcerer, but duty came before his personal preferences, and he begrudgingly led the young man from the room.

"I see that you're still openly recruiting," Walter said with a small grin.

"Don't look at me like that," Chrom responded sternly, though grinning himself. "You brought home the last stray. If Henry's half as capable as Anna is, however, then you will have done well by the Shepherds. I don't know how Anna does it, but our national budget has gone up by almost fourteen percent since she joined us a month ago, despite the ongoing recession and reconstruction."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Robin had already increased it by ten percent, and yet Anna managed to squeeze out another fourteen?"

"I suppose there are many kinds of magic in the world, and Anna is a master sorceress when it comes to producing gold," Chrom chortled, before turning to Mustafa. "Thank you for your aid, General."

"It was no trouble," Mustafa answered, bowing his head respectfully. "The Fell Dragon is a threat to us all, and I am proud to do my part in keeping him dead and gone. It was also…pleasant to see Selene again, even if the circumstances weren't optimal."

"You knew her?" Phila spoke up.

"Yes, during the First Crusade the Grimleal had a near constant presence in Castle Plegia, Validar himself attending court often. I spoke with Selene quite regularly, and I am not ashamed to admit that I may have poached some of her strategies for the war. Her suggestions are what saved me from your bloody Pegasus Knights in the northern mountains."

"She sounds quite capable," Chrom stated, sounding impressed. "It is a shame you couldn't convince her to join us."

"She insisted that Robin was a better tactician than her, but she was just being modest," Mustafa said.

Walter nearly slapped himself as Mustafa's reference to her parting words jogged his memory. "I almost forgot, milord, but Selene said something else before she departed," he stated.

"And what was that?" Chrom asked, curious.

"As I already explained, during our conversation, she alluded to the fact that you know the Avatar, though she was too vague about it to get an accurate guess as to what way you know him. But as she left, she said to tell you that 'if you need to find the Avatar, you need simply look to your right.'"

Chrom was silent for several moments. Walter could see several thoughts and emotions flit through his eyes as he crossed his hands in front of his mouth, staring blankly at the table in front of him in contemplation. Then, his eyes went wide momentarily, but before Walter could ask what he'd thought of, Chrom stood up abruptly. "That is…interesting. Thank you for telling me that, Walter," Chrom said almost distantly.

"Are you alright, Chrom?" Phila asked worriedly. "Do you know who it is?"

"No," Chrom stated definitively, but he was looking at the table instead of them. "But I will think on it some more, perhaps her meaning will become clear. As it is, I suddenly remembered that I had questions for Tharja, and must go to meet her. You're all dismissed. Thank you again for your aid, General Mustafa." Without further ado, he turned and exited the conference room.

The three veterans sat there in stunned silence for a moment, thrown off by Chrom's abrupt departure.

"What in the Sands was that about?" Mustafa wondered.

"I don't know," Phila responded worriedly, "but that was unlike him."

 _Yes, it was,_ Walter thought suspiciously as he stared at the door Chrom had just left through. _He knows something, I'd bet my life on it. But why would he conceal it?_

"Well, I'm not sure about you two," Mustafa said, standing up and stretching his back. Walter was amused to hear a series of pops, not unlike the sounds he heard when he stretched himself. "But I have to return to my post before our illustrious King-Regnant gets suspicious. It was an honor to fight alongside the both of you."

"Likewise, Mustafa," Walter said, standing up and extending his hand to the General.

"I suppose I'll see you both at your wedding," he said, smiling broadly.

Walter's blood ran cold at the thought. _The wedding._ He'd almost forgotten about it, in all of the grave business surrounding the Avatar. They had just barely set the date for it, but done little more planning. It wasn't until the next winter, sure, but Walter knew full well how fast time flew when planning a wedding. Mustafa gave a loud, booming laugh at the expression of dread that had surfaced on Walter's face, and he clapped the paladin on the shoulder before leaving the room.

"Yes, our wedding," Phila said pointedly, a smirk creeping up on her face. "The one that we've been neglecting planning for far too long already."

Walter sighed in an admission of guilt. "Yes, we have, dear," he said with dread. "Now that this sordid affair has been wrapped up as well as it can be, we can focus our attention on the wedding."

"I'm glad to hear it," Phila said with an almost cruel grin. "I'll meet you in the courtyard, love." She then pecked him on the cheek and sashayed her way from the room, leaving an increasingly panicking Walter to file out on his own and head for the front door. It was late January now. Their wedding was scheduled for early December. A little less than twelve months. Twelve piteously short, horrendously stressful months awaited him.

So absorbed was he in his mounting panic that he nearly ran headlong into someone around the corner. As he regained his footing and began apologizing to whoever he'd bumped into, he'd noticed it was Robin.

"Ah, Robin," Walter greeted with a strained smile. "I would like to thank you for assuming my duties while I was…on leave."

"You can have it back, all of it," Robin said with theatrical desperation. "There's so much _paperwork_. How in the nine hells do you handle it? I thought organizing the reconstruction effort was a slog, but your job is a nightmare."

"I've had decades to get used to military procedure," Walter said with a shrug. "How fares your wyvern taming?"

"Fantastic!" Robin practically cheered, throwing Walter off with the sudden burst of enthusiasm. "He's the best friend I could have ever asked for. Well, besides Chrom and the rest of the Shepherds, I guess, since they can actually speak my language and at least politely pretend to be interested in tactics. I can't ride the Shepherds into battle, though… Well, maybe Nowi or Panne, but something tells me that asking to 'ride' the former would end up with Vaike's axe in my skull, and the latter would result in an upheaval of the food chain. 'In Ylisse, rabbit eats you!'" he said, his voice a poor imitation of Gregor's.

Walter chuckled at the young man's theatrics. "It is comforting to see that the stresses of my job have not put a damper on your sense of humor," he said dryly.

"What fun is life without a sense of humor?" Robin asked rhetorically, laughing merrily. Walter frowned for a second and tuned Robin out momentarily, however. Something about that sentence tugged at his mind…

"Hello, Ylisse to Walter, are you there?" Robin asked, waving his hand in front of Walter's face.

"I apologize, Robin," Walter said distantly, trying and failing to bridge the connection his mind was practically screaming at him to make. "I was lost in thought."

"Might it have something to do with the fact that Captain Phila walked by me a few minutes ago, humming wedding songs?" Robin teased.

Walter's face went pale as Robin inadvertently brought him crashing back into reality. "No, but _now_ I'm thinking about it. And I am not looking forward to the near future…"

"Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it then. And don't worry; I'll stay far, far out of your way. After all, of what help is a bachelor in planning a wedding?" He said innocently, though it was betrayed by the wide, almost cruel grin on Robin's face as he slipped past Walter, walking toward the Royal Apartments. A few seconds later, a tune that Walter recognized as Ylissean wedding music came humming from Robin's lips as he rounded another corner.

 _As much as I like and respect Robin, I really, really hate him,_ Walter thought sourly. Once again, the sheer amount of planning that he saw himself doing for nearly all of his waking moments for the foreseeable future pressed down on him again, and he sighed dejectedly before moving toward the Great Hall.

 _It's time to go home…and plan a wedding,_ Walter thought in grim resignation as he strode out into the bracing winter air.

 **AN:**

 **And that concludes our tour of the Thabes Labyrinth. Please, file out in an orderly line, and thank you for your patronage.**

 **The interwar peace arc is almost done, y'all. A couple chapters that are gonna be full of timeskips (because I'm losing patience with drawing everything out), and we'll be onto Valm! It'll be a while before that's posted though. Hopefully it doesn't take me another three months to put out this many chapters. I blame Dark Souls 3, cheesing Blackflame Friede is fun. Also, if y'all ever want help in that game from a level 130 Dark Pyromancer on Xbone (yes, go ahead and laugh, I bought Xbone), shoot me a message and we can set something up.**


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter 62**

 **Wedding Bells**

 _It's been a year already,_ Walter mused as he stood in front of the full length mirror in the Ylissean Palace, adjusting his deep blue formal tunic. It seemed to want to ruffle at the shoulders a lot and required near constant smoothing down. But yes, it _had_ been nearly a full year since their experience in the Fell Dragon's Cradle. In strange way, everything and nothing at all had happened since then. The Army's restructuring had finished, most of the officer's corps had officially graduated the school (with Rickard being top of his class and becoming a General, doing his father's legacy proud), many of his Ylissean friends had visited regularly (Cordelia, Stahl, Duke Talys, and the members of House Themis were incredibly common sights around the Castle of Nordenheim), Nordenheim's crime rate had become nearly nonexistent, the post-war recession had ended, The Queen had given birth to a beautiful daughter, who had been named Lucina, and Ylisse was enjoying a level of prosperity not seen since the middle years of Emmeryn's reign, before Plegian bandit raids had become commonplace. Yet at the same time, everything became comfortably routine; without any national emergencies to attend to, Walter found himself enjoying peace for the first time in his life. He wasn't the only one either; quite nearly all of the Shepherds were now wed (with him having attended all of the weddings).

 _And now it's my turn,_ Walter mused. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it to be honest. To put it into a single word, "everything". He was elated, terrified, excited, and a dozen other emotions at once, just like the first time he'd married. None of them could suppress the others and make it to his face, however, and he stood with his trademark slight frown.

"One would think a man could do naught but smile on his wedding day," a voice said behind him as if reading his thoughts, "but we both know better." Mustafa, who he'd chosen as his best man, was standing behind him in his own deep purple tunic (though Walter could see the thing practically screaming in protest from having to accommodate Mustafa's muscle mass).

"Yes, we do," Walter said with a dry chuckle. "I thought I'd never be wed again, if I am being perfectly honest."

"Yet here you are," Mustafa countered, "preparing to marry again. Your God is a gracious and faithful one, I see, to give you a second chance at love."

"A mercy I do not deserve," Walter sighed, thinking back on his less-than-righteous actions in the past.

"You may have done much wrong, but you have done just as much right, my friend," Mustafa said, walking up and clapping his hand on the Paladin's shoulder. "Perhaps in time you will see that. But enough of such dour matters," he said boisterously, "today is a good day! You will be wed with the woman you love, in the presence of all of your friends, and the rest of us will get incredibly drunk!" he finished with a laugh.

 _Not all of my friends; Kendal was forbidden from attending by King Gerald,_ Walter thought sourly. "Always eyeing that silver lining, eh Mustafa?" Walter chuckled. "Very well. I suppose we should make our way out to the altar." Mustafa nodded, still grinning, and the pair exited to the Great Hall.

Walter had had reservations about conducting the service in the Temple of Naga; while Naga's holy places were suitable for his daily prayers and meditations, they were still dedicated to another god. He did not feel right swearing such holy vows as matrimonial ones there. So, he and Phila had agreed to simply hold it in the palace, in front of a nondescript altar. The other decorations had been decided nearly completely by Phila; he'd long since learned his lesson about trying to argue with your wife-to-be about wedding decorations, and he never particularly cared about the decorations anyway. They would each be saying their own vows, as Libra did not feel comfortable reciting those of his faith, which he understood perfectly.

As the pair walked into the Great Hall and made their way to the Altar, Walter mused over who had decided to attend. Most of the High and Middle Houses of Ylisse were in attendance, and innumerable commoners were visible in the second and third story balconies; Phila was quite popular amongst the smallfolk, and apparently he'd achieved a reputation of sorts himself. At the Altar stood Libra, wearing his most formal priest robes, yet still carrying his axe as ever. A serene smile graced his effeminate face as Walter arrived, and he nodded encouragingly, which Walter answered with a thankful bow of his head. In the first few pews that had been set up were the Shepherds, all dressed much like they had been for each other's weddings. The Feroxi Khans were seated with the Shepherds, but as usual they were wearing armor, though they had had it shined to the point where Walter was sure he could see his reflection in it. Flavia shot him a wink and blew him a kiss when he looked at her, and Walter rolled his eyes, causing the Khan to laugh rather loudly, disturbing the quiet chatter that was floating around. Cordelia and Sumia were absent, functioning as Phila's bridesmaids, but in their place, flanking either side of the aisle as honor guards, were the other Pegasus Knights, standing at attention, armor and lances polished to an immaculate shine. There were seventy-two of them now, and Walter had begrudgingly admitted to being outright impressed with their professionalism and competence. He had sought to poach some of them for the main Army's officer corps, but Cordelia had been quite insistent that she keep her troops. Perhaps he could still convince her…

 _You're not at work_ , _quit thinking about it,_ a voice in his head chided, sounding uncomfortably like Ruth's. He shook his head to rid himself of it. Before Mustafa could question it, however, the main palace doors were opened, revealing his bride.

Walter was a man of much self-control, but even he barely managed to restrain his jaw from dropping. Perhaps it was his mental state, or the early afternoon sun, or some other trick of the eye, but she appeared to be positively glowing. She had, true to form, applied as little makeup as possible (from what he could tell behind the veil, at any rate), but her silver hair hung loosely, just barely touching her shoulders, and her bangs were kept from her face by the veil and a headpiece that had a pair of pegasus wings on the sides. Her dress, while Walter would normally have dismissed it as "one of those frilly, voluminous, nonsense wastes of cloth that only ever get worn once", was made all the more beautiful simply by her wearing it.

Holding her arm was her father, dressed in a fine white tunic to match his daughter's dress. He had forgone the use of his cane, and while Walter could see his visible limp as he walked his daughter forward, the man had no visible indication that he was in pain. Indeed, he was smiling at Phila so proudly that Walter thought his face might split. Trailing behind and holding up the train, was Cordelia, smiling happily (Walter knew she rather enjoyed weddings). Sumia walked behind them both, smiling softly at her former Captain.

It was as the bridal company reached the Altar that the emotions that had been waging war in Walter's mind all morning came to a head; in one last desperate struggle, they all fought on, but in the end, only one was left standing: happiness. Almost a foreign feeling to Walter, and very, very rarely experienced in this magnitude, but he recognized it for what it was. Here she was, this beautiful, strong, courageous woman who understood him better than anyone in this world, and he was about to be married to her.

 _Thank you, Lord, for your blessings,_ Walter thought as Phila came to a stop across from him. He frowned slightly, however, when he noticed her eyes were rather wide. "Are you alright?" Walter asked quietly.

"I am absolutely terrified," Phila said just as quietly, her breathing obviously constricted, "and I do not know why."

"You face the unknown," Walter answered soothingly. "Your life will change today. Hesitance is understandable. But you will not face it alone."

Phila's face remained rather panicked for a moment, but slowly, her eyes narrowed back to a normal level, and she smiled serenely. "No, I won't," she whispered happily.

"Citizens of Ylisse," Libra began, his melodious voice rather loud in Walter's ear as he spoke up to make himself heard by all in attendance, "We are gathered here today, under the benevolent gaze of not one, but _two_ gods, to join this couple in holy matrimony!" Walter smiled thankfully at Libra for the respectful mention of the Lord. "Before this loving couple speaks their own vows to each other, does anyone have cause for these two not to be wed?" His voice, as it had been at every other Shepherd's wedding ceremony, became edged with ice as he spoke that last line, practically daring naysayers to come forth. Silence, as ever, was his answer. Satisfied that none would dare interrupt the ceremony, Libra continued. "Then speak your vows, my friends."

As was customary in Ecclesia, Walter spoke first. He opened his mouth to speak, and though it seemed like he had to force it out of his throat due to nervousness, it came out strong. "When I came to Ylisse," he began, "I was lost and without purpose, a cast-off from a world I thought doomed to destruction." He heard some whispering among the commoners; his history was not entirely well known, but he had little concern for that now. "But our King and his Shepherds happened across me in the Great Forest, and gave me new purpose." He turned and nodded respectfully to the young King, who nodded and grinned in return. "But it was as I tended your wounds in the Plegian campaign that I began to feel a more personal attachment to this world," he continued, turning back to Phila. "And as I tended your wounds, I became quite fond of you." Phila smiled as he did, and he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. "You a strong, proud, capable woman, and a hero to the halidom…and to me. We marched together, fought together, and struggled through hardships together. I have decided I would rather go through the rest of my life with none other at my side. From this day henceforth, I swear myself to you and to you alone, until I face the Lord's judgment."

"Well spoken," Libra said with a gentle smile. "Lady Talys?"

Phila was staring at Walter with a loving smile on her face, and Cordelia had to subtly nudge her to get her to speak. "Right," she whispered sheepishly, before clearing her throat. "I will admit, I was…unsure how to feel about you, when milord brought you into the castle last spring," Phila admitted. "I thought your story of other worlds to be lunacy, and as clearly a skilled combatant as you were, I thought you a danger to the halidom." She laughed dryly then. "I could not have been more wrong. As the Plegian War began, I watched you give everything you had in defense of Ylisse, a halidom that you had no real cause to sacrifice so much for. Risking your life in the Feroxi Coliseum, saving Themis, rescuing Lady Maribelle and slowing down the Plegian Army by destroying an entire mountain pass, refusing to allow Emmeryn to return to Ylisstol without defenses you considered adequate, defending the civilians during the Siege of Ylisstol…I was impressed beyond words. Then, you go even further, tending to the wounds I sustained during the siege, and again on the road to Plegia when I so foolishly insisted on coming along, despite my infected wounds. You saved me yet again when I was struck down at Castle Plegia," she said, trailing off briefly with a sad look on her face, likely remembering that horrible day. "You comforted me when I awoke, alive and in Ylisstol, and again when General Mustafa returned her to us, and have been as stalwart a friend as anyone could rightfully ask, and more. I cannot claim to know precisely when my respect turned to adoration, but you have done so much for Ylisse, and for me, that I cannot help but love you." She smiled lovingly at Walter, who could feel a slight ache in his own cheeks from smiling back for so long. "From this day henceforth, I swear myself to you and to you alone, until I pass unto Naga's grace."

"Again, well spoken," Libra said, still smiling. "Then by the power vested in me by Naga, and with respect to the One Lord of Bersia, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Walter moved forward and gently lifted the veil from Phila's face. He had little time to admire the gorgeous view, however, as she practically threw herself at him. Cheering erupted as the two veterans sealed their vows to each other, and Walter could not imagine himself ever having a happier moment again in his life.

000

"Breathe, milady," a woman's voice gently said behind the door. Her request was answered with a scream, followed by a string of abuse at the woman who'd spoken, and Walter's pulse quickened. _Your wife is behind that door, in pain, and you sit out here!?Craven! Bastard!_ The less rational part of his mind screamed at him.

 _She is in labor,_ he told himself shortly. _It is to be expected. The midwives can handle it, particularly with Maribelle in charge. It will be fine._

"Oh, settle down, you old hypochondriac," Maribelle scoffed at his wife, as if reading Walter's mind. "My mother went through this with me, and she'd half the hips you do. Now, hold your tongue and breathe like you were taught." Another scream, but less painful sounding. "There we are. I told you before not to forget the breathing, why don't we try _listening_ to the cleric this time, hmm?" There was a muttered insult and reluctant, exhausted thanks in return.

 _See?_ Walter told himself again with a chortle. _It will be fine._

It had been nine months since the wedding, and it was now late summer, or early autumn, depending on what how fiercely the sun felt like shining on any given day. Nine months since the consummation. Since conception. He had rubbed it in Phila's face, a tad childishly, that her fears of being unable to conceive were unfounded. As ever, she took it gracefully, and they had tread down a path familiar to Walter: the path of pregnancy. Nine months of savage mood swings that had him questioning his sanity, unusual cravings that had their head chef pulling his already-thinning hair out, repeated awakenings in the middle of the night as Phila got out of bed to relieve herself for the nth time, and all of the other trials and tribulations that went with pregnancy.

But the biggest of the trials was upon Phila now, and Walter could not help but worry for her. Alas, he could not be in there to comfort her, as the Ylissean midwives absolutely refused to allow him. Even Maribelle could not dissuade them. And so he sat in the halls, nerve-wracked as only a worried husband could be. He did not know how long it had been… a day, perhaps? No, not quite, the sun hadn't risen again. It had been early afternoon when her water had broken. Endless hours of listening to her scream in pain had Walter's nerves frayed, and he had regrettably snapped at some of the servants who'd simply wished to know if he wanted anything. He would apologize later, though; Phila needed him here, even if he couldn't be in there with her.

And the screaming yet continued. Walter did not know what time it was. He honestly didn't care; he just wanted the birth over and done with so Phila would _stop screaming._ As if by providence, her screaming suddenly picked up in volume and pitch (to Walter's disbelief), and the midwives were now urging to push. Walter did not move a muscle, forcing every ounce of energy to his ears, so he could pick up any irregularities past the screaming, anything to indicate something was going wrong.

Then there was a different voice screaming. The unmistakable sound of a crying infant.

Walter tried to restrain himself, and succeeded for a few minutes, but could wait no longer; he shot to his feet and wrenched open the door so violently that the midwives inside jumped. One of them was standing between him and Phila, so he could not get a good look to see if she was alright.

"I thought we told you-" one of the midwives began with a scowl as Walter walked forward, only to be cut off.

"Oh, piss off you old hag, it's all done with" Maribelle snapped, shouldering past the old woman and walking up to Walter. "Phila is fine, Walter," Maribelle told him with a tired smile. "The child is alive and healthy. She's a girl."

"A girl?" Walter asked hoarsely, his mind blank.

"Yes, a girl, why don't you try listening? You're just as bad as your wife," Maribelle repeated with a tone of irritation, though a smile was on her face. "Do you wish to see them?"

"Y-yes," Walter stuttered, and he dumbly followed Maribelle past the now irate old midwife, to his wife's bedside. Phila was propped up against some pillows and was clearly exhausted, but she didn't even notice Walter. She was examining the bundle of cloth in her arms…their daughter, he realized.

"It's a girl," Phila said, looking up to her husband with a tired smile as he reached and touched her shoulder. "She's so beautiful…do you wish to hold her?"

"Yes," Walter answered immediately, holding out his hands. Phila obliged, handing the child to him as if she was made of glass, before slumping back in her seat, breathing heavily.

Walter, for his part, was enraptured by the tiny being that was asleep in his arms. She had his hair color, but practically everything else was taken from Phila. They had the same nose, the same cheekbones, the same complexion, the same jaw line… _Probably a good thing,_ he realized with a slight chuckle. _I doubt a woman would appreciate having my large nose or my square jaw._

"You are right, she is beautiful," Walter said aloud as he gently stroked the child's face. She had already fallen asleep from the stress of being brought into the world, but she stirred a bit as he stroked her cheek. "The most beautiful thing in the world."

"And she's ours," Phila said, smiling fondly at the pair of them. "We made her."

"You did most of the work," Walter pointed out, and his wife laughed weakly. He looked back down to his daughter. "Are we still agreed on her name?"

"I believe we are," Phila said with a smile, holding her arms out expectantly. Walter reluctantly handed their daughter back to her. "Hello there, you gorgeous little thing," she cooed, causing Walter to smile wider as the child's eyes opened lazily, revealing a pair of ice blue eyes like his own. "I'm your mother, and that man is your father. And you, my dear, are named Grace."

000

 _I have never felt so blessed,_ Walter thought as he stood in the window of his study, _except perhaps when Ruth gave birth to Thomas, and the short years that followed._ He hadn't thought of Ruth in a while. He felt somewhat guilty about it, but every time he did, he could swear he felt her cup his cheek, as she did every other time he grew somber, and he would snap out of it and return his attentions to his living wife..and their daughter.

It was late April now; nearly the two-year mark of his arrival in Ylisse in early May, and his newborn daughter was now six months old. Phila had taken Grace to visit Cordelia and her daughter, Severa, in the capital, and Castle Nordenheim felt empty to him. He would have gone with them, but there was some unsettling trends happening to the north; increased bandit activity and what appeared to be large trade caravans originating in Port Ferox, and Walter didn't feel comfortable leaving Nordenheim right now. He wished he had gone. His wife and daughter had practically not been out of his sight for the past two months, and he felt empty without them.

"Brooding again, milord?" Seth said behind him. He turned to regard his faithful steward, who was smiling wryly at him.

"You know me too well, Seth," Walter chuckled, before gazing back out of the window. "Were it not for this curious business to the north, I'd have gone with them in a heartbeat."

"That is actually what I came to inform you of, milord," Seth answered gravely. "A woman by the name of Raimi appeared at the gate a few minutes ago, asking me to pass along a message to you." Walter turned and saw Seth holding out an envelope to him…and envelope sealed with the crest of the Feroxi Khans. Walter took the letter and opened it, a feeling of dread taking root in his gut.

 _General_

 _There's some trouble brewing to the West, as you've no doubt noticed from all of the people moving around north of you, but I don't wish to say more in this letter in case it's intercepted. I've dispatched Commander Raimi to Ylisstol with the full story; she's going to speak to Chrom. I figured I'd save you some time, not have you wait for Chrom to summon you._

 _If you doubt the severity of the situation, don't. Get your crusty arse to Ylisstol, now, and pray to your God that I'm wrong about this._

 _Khan Flavia_

Walter frowned as he folded the letter back up and placed it inside the envelope. "Prepare my horse," Walter commanded. "I depart for Ylisstol."

"If I may be so bold, milord," Seth said as he took the envelope and began backing toward the door, "I take it that you aren't going simply to see your family?"

"You would be correct," Walter answered gravely. "Have my armor prepared as well. Khan Flavia is nervous, Seth, and if anything makes that woman nervous, it's serious…and likely deadly."

"The Khan Regnant herself is concerned?" Seth said with a raised eyebrow, and Walter nodded. "Very well, milord. Your armor and horse will be prepared. If I may, might I raise the alertness level of the guards?"

"Yes, that would be wise," Walter answered. "Watch over the duchy while I am away. I know I can count on you."

"Your will is my command, milord," Seth said with a deep bow, before turning and striding from the room, barking orders as he went.

Walter turned to the window one last time. Nordenheim lay before him, covered in a light coating of snow, his hilltop vantage allowing him a rather stunning view of the rugged hills and evergreen forests surrounding his the duchy's capital. Walter committed the sight to memory; he had a feeling this would be the last time he would be seeing his duchy for a while.

000

"An invasion?" Chrom was asking with dread as Walter walked purposefully into the Great Hall of Castle Ylisstol. Frederick, Lissa, and Robin were all standing with him, Robin at his right hand, as ever. Walter stopped in his tracks for a second as the words reached his ears. He then doubled his pace forward. "Are you certain of this, Raimi?"

"Unfortunately so, milord," Raimi said gravely. "Khan Flavia requests your presence in the Coliseum to discuss this…development."

Chrom nodded, and turned to Frederick. "Frederick, assemble the Shepherds, and dispatch a messenger to Nordenheim. I want the Grand General-"

"I'm afraid there's little point to that, milord," Frederick interrupted with a wry grin as he noticed Walter walking up. Chrom shot him a confused glance, before following Frederick's gaze to Walter.

Chrom gave him a strained grin. "How much did you hear?" Chrom asked as Walter made it to them and bowed briefly.

"I heard the word 'invasion'," Walter said, looking at Raimi pointedly. "Who is invading, and from where?"

"Our western neighbors in Valm are no longer acting so neighborly," Raimi explained bluntly. "Their refugees began flooding our shores several weeks ago, as you've undoubtedly noticed, and the last batch claimed that their Emperor's fleets were preparing to launch behind them."

"We'll discuss this more at the Coliseum," Chrom told her. Raimi bowed respectfully, and quickly walked away from the group. He then turned to Walter. "General, put the Army on high alert, and have it prepare to march."

"You mean to march to war based on the word of refugees?" Frederick asked as Walter saluted. "Are you certain about this, milord?"

"I don't intend to march, not yet," Chrom corrected. "I plan to apprise myself of the facts once we're in Regna Ferox and make a decision there. If we don't march, then we can simply return the Army to standby."

"Wow, Chrom being level headed and reasonable? Who are you, and where is our King?" Robin said sarcastically, pulling a glare from Walter and Frederick and a laugh from Lissa. "In all seriousness, though, you've become an excellent ruler. You've come a long way from tending sheep."

"I haven't changed all that much, and I couldn't have done it without you," Chrom replied with a grin, clapping Robin on the shoulder. As he opened his mouth to speak further, however, he was cut off.

"Did I hear that correctly?" Sumia asked gravely, walking with her daughter in hand. Walter was happy to see Phila was with her at the moment as well, their own daughter in tow. As he moved to embrace them, Sumia continued. "Are we to march to war?"

"We very well may," Chrom answered, his tone equally grave. "I wish I could stay with you," he said softly, stroking her cheek. "But as the King, it is my responsibility to lead the Army, if it comes to that."

"I'm not asking you to stay," Sumia said, her face turning confident. "I'm telling you I'm coming with you."

The room was dead silent for a moment, before Chrom shook his head. "No, Sumia," he said in as commanding a tone as he could muster. "Our daughter needs her mother."

"She needs milk," Sumia corrected. "Can she not be wet-nursed, as you and Lissa were? Is that not House Ylisse's tradition? Lucina can handle it, she is a strong child. The Brand in her eye was not her only gift from you."

Chrom looked down at his daughter for a second, a loving expression on his face, before it hardened. "I'm not solely worried for our daughter," he said sternly. "I'm worried for you as well."

"That's sweet," Sumia deadpanned, "but I _am_ coming."

Chrom opened his mouth to object further, but sighed and shook his head. "I know better than to argue with you when your mind's made up," he said in defeat.

"Wow, Sumia's really got you trained well!" Lissa said with a cackle, before imitating the sound of a whip cracking.

Walter tuned out the conversation as he turned to Phila. The look in her eye was hard and defiant. "Will you not stay behind?" he asked, although he suspected it was futile.

"Will you?" Phila asked condescendingly. "I swore an oath to defend House Ylisse, and I will not sit idly by as our King marches to war." Her hard look faded, however, as they both looked down at their daughter. "It isn't fair," Phila whispered. "For twenty years, most of it peaceful, I have had nothing in my personal life. No family but the Exalted Line, no friends that I didn't serve with…and now that I finally have found love, have finally birthed a child of my own, now the world sees fit to throw another war at us? How is this just?"

"Life isn't just," Walter said as gently as such a cold thing could be said, before his tone turned confident. "But I swear to you now, we will both see our daughter again. We will both live to see her grow into a strong, beautiful woman like her mother, to see her make us both proud."

Phila looked back up to him, to the confident look on his face. "I will hold you to it," she said, some of his confidence transferring to her. _Together, we can face the world,_ Walter thought as he gazed upon his wife's determined face. _These "Valmese" don't know what's about to hit them._

 **AN:**

 **Walter and Phila are married, everything is as settled as it's ever gonna be, he has a daughter…**

 **And the Valmese have arrived.**

 **I know I said I wouldn't be skipping years at a time, but, well, you can only talk about how boringly peaceful something is for so long. And marriage and childbirth are things that you have to experience to really understand (and I'm mostly using accounts from my friends and family to express them, as I've experienced neither), and no amount of waxing eloquent will get the point across more than what I've already written. So, rather than pad word counts for three or four chapters with nonsense, I just condensed it into one.**

 **I'll update once more once the Valm Arc is complete. Stay tuned. Or don't. The story will continue until my friend tells me to fuck off or I'm done with it.**


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter 63**

 **Grim Tidings**

Robin was humming merrily to himself as the convoy came up to the Coliseum. Dean was currently taking a nap in a wagon provided by the Longfort guards; the cold-blooded reptile couldn't fly or even stay awake for very long in the cold temperatures of Regna Ferox. As intolerant as his own body was of the cold, Robin rather liked the scenery; the fields of Regna Ferox covered in snow even at this time of year, the evergreens, and the mountains in the distance. It was almost enough for him to forget-

 _Right,_ he said, his humming coming to an abrupt stop and the smile fading from his face. _We're here to talk about going to war against Valm,_ he thought dejectedly, fidgeting with the edge of the fingerless leather gloves he wore, partially to better his grip on weapons, but mostly to conceal the Brand of the Defile on his right hand. Despite Chrom's insistence that he would only make a decision about whether to march against Valm or not after they'd talked to Flavia, Robin already knew how it would end: if Regna Ferox went to war, Chrom would feel obligated to repay them for their aid against Plegia, and so they'd march as well. He didn't resent Chrom for it, of course. Robin felt the same; if he were in Chrom's stead, he'd make the same decision. But he wouldn't like it, and he didn't like it now. _We've just managed to recover from the last war,_ he thought dejectedly, remembering his last meeting with Anna and their talk about the economy that had just achieved pre-war status. _And if what I'm hearing is true, this war is gearing up to be a relative nightmare._ He'd looked briefly into Valm's population count and their military strength. The figures were all before this supposed "Emperor" had forcibly united them, but even in a peacetime standing, just the less-populated northern half of Valm would be enough to go toe-to-toe with the entire Ylissean continent. Bertrands first crusade against Plegia had decimated Archanea's population, and now they were all going to pay the price for it. The last thing Robin wanted to do was see his friends fighting and dying against-

"You're doing it again," Chrom whispered to his left, an elbow knocking him out of his brooding.

"Thanks," he whispered back, sighing heavily. Chrom always knew when he was working himself up.

"No problem," Chrom said with a slight smile, before speaking up at a normal tone of voice. "Hey, have you heard from Virion lately?"

"No, I haven't," Robin responded curtly. Despite all odds, Robin had found himself in a fast friendship with the so-called "Archest of Archers". He was a dandy, sure, and insufferably smug sometimes, yeah, but he was a good guy beneath all the bluster. And he couldn't really fault him for the bluster either; the man was damned skilled at just about anything that wasn't magical in nature. Quite suddenly however, a month or two after Walter's wedding, Virion had simply vanished. No letter, not a word to anybody (either through official channels or pillow talk with the castle maids), not even a bloody note on his bedside table. Robin was still a little miffed about it. He'd at least thought _he'd_ get some sort of goodbye.

"He never returned my summons," Chrom replied back, worried.

"I wouldn't be too worried," Robin said back, forcing his tone to be light. "I still owe him thirty gold, and he won't die before he's collected it from me."

"Is there anybody you _don't_ owe gold?" Chrom asked with a grin. "Gods, I think we're even still taking half of your pay and giving it to Lissa after that awful bet."

"You know damn well that Frederick and Panne getting together was about as likely as stumbling across a brilliant amnesiac tactician in a field!" Robin replied hotly, though with no malice, and the pair laughed. Robin could practically feel the aforementioned couple's glares burning a hole in his back, but he didn't care. "But…well, I don't owe Kellam money."

"Yes you do," a voice said to his right, and Robin jumped as Kellam seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Remember? I picked up your tab when Gaius took us all out, and you agreed to repay me?"

"Oh, right," Robin said sheepishly. "Damn, I guess I _do_ owe everybody money." Everyone within earshot laughed at that, and Robin turned rather red. "Yeah, laugh it up guys," he said warningly, "and watch as I tactically lead you all into a ravine."

"I'd like to think we're smart enough not to march straight into a ravine just because you say so," Chrom said, still grinning madly.

"Maybe the others are, but you're as dull as Sully's training sword. I could order you to walk into the women's bathing tent when you know she's in there and you'd do it," Robin shot back, and the pair laughed again.

"As amusing as your banter with the tactician is, milord," Frederick spoke up, "perhaps you both might dismount the cart so we might actually meet with the Khans?"

The two snapped back to reality to see that the convoy had stopped outside of the Coliseum, and most of the Shepherds were now staring at the two impatiently.

"Uh, right," Chrom said sheepishly, before jumping down from the cart. Robin followed suit, and the group was quickly led to the Khan's Throne Room.

Robin did a double take as he saw who was in there with the Khans, however, and stormed past the rest of the entourage and slapped the person in the face in an exaggeratedly feminine manner. "I can't believe you!" He shouted at the person, stunning the rest of the room into silence. "After all of those wonderful nights together, after all of the shared drinks and meals, after all of the times you pierced my formations with your flanking maneuvers, and no goodbye? No flowers, no letters, not even a bloody note on the nightstand? Well, what do you have to say for yourself, you sorry bastard!?"

The one he had slapped was Virion, the long-absent Archest of Archers, who was now staring at Robin incredulously and rubbing his jaw. He then began grinning madly and bowed with a deep flourish. "I would say zat I most deeply regret my abrupt departure, Most Tactical of Tacticians," he said dramatically, "and zat I pray zat you might one day forgive me."

The rest of the room was silent, as Robin stood and glared at the lost archer, before grinning and pulling him into a one-armed hug. "You're forgiven, you silver-tongued chicken-horse's arse." The pair then had a good laugh, even as the rest of the room's occupants stared at them in bewilderment, before Robin turned back around. "See, Chrom?" he said, his arm still around Virion's shoulder. "I told you not to worry."

"I suppose you did," Chrom said with a grin. "It's good to see you again Virion."

"And you as well, King Chrom," Virion said, bowing deeply again. "I trust zat my presence was not too sorely missed?"

"At least not by the women," Lissa snorted from near Chrom, and the rest of the Shepherds laughed.

"Alack and alay," Virion said dramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead, "I am wounded."

"As amusing as this is," Walter spoke up from Lissa's other side, "Perhaps we might discuss the reason we're all here?"

"Yeah, I suppose we should," Khan Flavia said from her throne, still grinning at Robin's antics. Basilio was standing beside her, his face far grimmer. "As Raimi told you, Valm has launched warships against us. Our guest here," she said, gesturing to Virion, "can explain better than I."

Robin stepped away from Virion. "What do you know about Valm?" Robin asked incredulously.

"For long, I have introduced myself as Virion, ze Archest of Archers!" Virion declared proudly. "But zat was but a ruse. Yea, an artifice, to disguise myself as a mere above-average man! In truth, I am-"

"May I represent Duke Virion of Rosanne," the person who'd been standing next to Virion when Robin entered spoke up loudly, drowning out the man's monologue completely. Robin was surprised to see that it was a woman, wearing a maid's outfit. She had long, red hair that was just a few shades shy of pink, tied back behind her head in a tidy ponytail, and Robin did a double take when he saw that _holy gods above and below, she is_ gorgeous. She had thin features and high cheekbones that Virion had told him were common in his previously unnamed homeland, with eyes that matched her hair and _holy crap that smile,_ Robin thought in awe. He'd thought his best friend Cordelia (widely regarded as one of the most beautiful women in Ylisse) was gorgeous, but as far as Robin was concerned, Cherche won out of the two, hands down. "Welcome, King Chrom, you honor us with your presence," Cherche continued in a voice that sounded like pure perfection to Robin, bowing lowly to the King.

"Cherche!" Virion sputtered indignantly, "You stole my moment!" _Even her name is beautiful,_ Robin mused, his jaw somewhere near the floor by now.

"Cherche, is it?" Chrom asked, and she bowed respectfully. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps you might speak on behalf of your master?"

"This would probably go faster, yes," Cherche said with a giggle that drove static into Robin's mind. Virion continued to splutter. "Very well then. I will start with our origins: we hail from the country of Rosanne, a fertile territory on the continent of Valm. Milord is the head of House Virion and rightful ruler of Rosanne, a fact that he reminds us of often-and loudly."

"Is she not a true wit?" Virion spoke up, putting his arm around her proudly. "She gets it all from me, you know." He then gasped in pain as Cherche's hand clamped down on his, and Robin swore he heard the man's bones creaking as she slowly and "gently" pried his hands off of her. _She's definitely stronger than she looks,_ Robin thought in amusement.

"So, what brings a noble and his charge all the way across the Long Sea?" Chrom asked, indifferent to Virion's suffering.

"Ze Valmese," Virion answered in Cherche's stead, shaking his hand gingerly. "Zeirs was an unremarkable nation once. Tiny, almost pitifully so. In fact, if it had not been ze seat of ze Rigelian throne in ze ancient past, and not shared ze name of our continent, one might have forgotten it even existed. And so to obscurity zis nation might have been doomed…if not for Walhart the Conqueror." Virion spat out that name with so much vehemence that it surprised Robin. Virion had _never_ gotten that angry before. "One by one, he has conquered ze nations of Valm, adding them to his rapidly increasing Empire. When his armies reached Rosanne, I had little choice but to…recruit allies to our cause," he finished weakly.

"You ran for your life, is what you're saying," Chrom deadpanned.

"More or less," Cherche concluded, smiling even as her lord winced in shame. "As milord gathered up his valuables and what people he could, I stayed behind to lead Rosanne's modest army and monitor the Valmese. In the end, even I was forced to retreat, and came here, seeking asylum."

"To my great relief, I might add!" Virion interjected. "Eligible women are one of Rosanne's most valuable resources! Even one who cuts off her lord and-" he was silenced with the sound of crunching bone as Cherche slammed her shoe down on his foot. Virion just barely restrained a yelp. "'Tis only a jape, my dear," Virion said weakly as she lifted her foot away from his ravaged one.

"Perhaps it is time to cut this story short," Cherche continued, as if Virion hadn't even interrupted, still with that disarming smile on her face, though it faded quickly. "Walhart has conquered our continent, and now seeks to conquer yours."

"She claims their fleet will be on our shores in a matter of weeks," Basilio spoke up gruffly. "We'll see shortly if her claims prove true…"

"I speak only the truth, as does milord," Cherche said diplomatically, before shooting a sidelong glance at her liege. "At least in regards to this matter."

"Aha, zat wit of yours again!" Virion exclaimed, his voice strained with pain. "Zat wonderful…needling, chafing wit…"

"I believe you both," Chrom assured Cherche, before turning to Basilio. "We must secure your ports as quickly as possible."

"Milord, are you certain about this?" Frederick asked gravely. "Can we truly afford another war?"

"We owe it to the Khans for their aid against Plegia," Chrom reminded him. "And I've had two years to think about Ylisse's place in the world, Frederick. We must stand against evil in all its forms, or there can _be_ no peace!" he declared emphatically. Robin couldn't help but smile fondly at his best friend. He'd been there for quite a bit of that "thinking" he'd done. Chrom had felt terrible about some of his conduct in the Plegian War. His decision not to share the news of the rebellion with the Shepherds until he'd had no choice, the way he'd deposed Thorne as Grand General…and Mustafa. Robin had tried telling Chrom it wasn't his fault, and pointed out several times that the former two were actually his idea, but Chrom had refused to allow the blame to fall anywhere else, or nowhere at all. Despite how much of a pain those conversations were sometimes, Robin couldn't help but feel proud of him. He thought Emmeryn would be just as proud.

"Well spoken," Flavia said with a soft smile. "And it's very much appreciated, Chrom."

"Ze Valmese rely heavily on zeir cavalry," Virion warned. "Zey are ze strongest in ze world. You will need troops who have experience fighting mounted troops."

"Why, Virion, are you volunteering?" Chrom asked with a grin, and Virion bowed with a flourish. Chrom nodded in return, and turned to Walter. "General, dispatch messengers to the Nordenheim and Dornheim Army garrisons, and have them meet us here."

"As you will, Your Majesty," Walter said with a salute.

"Khan Flavia, might I impose on your hospitality?" Chrom asked. "The Shepherds will need a place to stay while we're here."

"My home is yours, Chrom," Flavia said with a grin, before turning to Raimi. "Find our guests some rooms, some halfway decent ones if we got 'em." Raimi saluted, before gesturing for the Shepherds to follow her. Most obliged, and began filing out of the room behind her.

"Thank you," Chrom said with a nod, before turning back to Robin. "Robin, once you've unpacked your gear and found somewhere to put Dean, grab Virion and meet me back here, so we can plan the defense of the ports."

"R-right," Robin said, snapping out of his reverie. He'd been staring (probably rather impolitely) at Cherche the entire time. The look on Chrom's face as he turned around told him he'd seen him doing it too, so he'd no doubt be hearing about it later.

"Ah, we ride to battle together once more!" Virion declared enthusiastically, putting his arm around Robin's shoulder and gesturing in front of them broadly. "Ze Valmese had better surrender now, for nothing can stop ze Archest of Archers and ze Most Tactical of Tacticians!"

Robin gave a strained grin. "Yeah, they won't know what hit them." _All two hundred thousand or more of them…_

"Wait, ze King mentioned 'Dean'," Virion said cautiously. "You mean to tell me you still have not rid yourself of zat beast?"

"Never," Robin said with a wide grin as Cherche looked at him curiously. "Especially now that I know he bothers you so much."

"Now zere are two of them," Virion sighed, confusing Robin. "Come, Cherche, while Robin takes care of his business, let us prepare for ze meeting."

"Right away, milord," Cherche said dutifully, before turning to Robin and flashing him a brilliant smile that nearly melted his kneecaps. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sir Robin. Milord has spoken quite highly of you, and I look forward to working together,"

"Y-yeah, me too," Robin managed to stutter out. Cherche curtseyed, before following Virion out of the throne room.

Flavia's laughter drew his attention next. "Yes, Khan Flavia?" Robin asked.

"Oh, nothing," she said, turning to Basilio and whispering something. The man let out a short, booming laugh that he swore shook the stone walls, and Robin had a sneaking suspicion it was about him. "Go on, take care of that wyvern of yours, we've a defense to plan."

"Right," Robin stated, the last of his scrambled thoughts pulling themselves together. "Defense, heavy cavalry usage, urban environment…yeah, maybe if we…" he trailed off, running over several ideas in his head as he strode out of the Throne Room and down towards the convoy. With luck, he'd have an idea or two by the time the meeting started.

000

"You know, I'm actually rather surprised," Chrom stated lightly as he and Robin sat down at the Khans' personal bar later, a mug of Feroxi ale in their hands. The meeting had just finished, a strategy had been decided on, and as with every meeting that wasn't in a war zone, they concluded it with an ale or two. He'd gone and seen Dean, of course, and even said hello to the other adorable wyvern that was perched up there (probably a Plegian messenger; was Flavia also requesting aid from Plegia? She hadn't mentioned that in the meeting, even though the political implications of such a thing were _definitely_ something they should know…), but as always, he would finish meeting days with an ale with his best friend.

"Surprised about what?" Robin asked, confused, drinking from his mug.

"That you managed to go that entire meeting and only stared at Cherche twice," Chrom said with a cruel grin as Robin was introduced to the sensation of ale entering his respiratory system.

"I don't…*cough*…I don't know what you're on about," Robin protested hoarsely.

"I know you're not stupid, Robin, that's why you're the tactician," Chrom said with a grin, thumping Robin on the back to help him breathe better. "You _liiiike_ her," he said in a childish, teasing tone.

"I do not!" Robin protested, somehow sounding just as childish despite the fact that he wasn't trying to sound that way. "I mean, yeah, she's gorgeous, and you probably don't appreciate it because you've only got eyes for a certain clumsy pegasus knight, but I don't 'like' her."

"Sumia hasn't tripped over nothing in months, and you don't like her _yet_ ," Chrom corrected, and Robin groaned. "You knew this was coming. How many times did you make fun of me for pining over Sumia? How many times did you make fun of Walter for being so dense? How many times did we laugh at the various other Shepherds for their own romantic interests?" he argued with a grin.

"Too many for my own karmic good," Robin stated dully, and Chrom just laughed. "I'm telling you, there's nothing happening there. She's just…easy on the eyes."

"There isn't anything _yet_ ," Chrom corrected again, and Robin glared at him. "I'll tell you what, why don't we make a bet."

"Oh gods, here we go," Robin groaned. Nothing good could come of this.

"If we get through this Valmese business without you falling for her, I'll pay off your entire gambling debt, to all the Shepherds." Chrom proposed.

Robin raised an eyebrow. "That's…awfully generous of you. And it's also an awful bet. I learned my lesson after the Frederick-slash-Panne fiasco; I'm never gambling more than five gold at a time again."

"Then if you lose, if you fall for her, you owe me five gold," Chrom said with a shrug. "I'm the one who pays you anyway, so no matter how much gold I take from you, it's just me getting my money back. I just want the satisfaction of beating you in something other than sparring."

"And drinking," Robin reminded him, speaking of the Spring Festival they'd attended a month prior and Chrom having to explain to him the next morning why he was in a dungeon cell, naked, and several people clamoring for the execution for the "right hand of the King", as he'd been become known as (much to his conflicting chagrin and pride). "But you know what? Fine. If those are the terms, this is way too good an opportunity to pass up. But not a word of this to Lissa, or you'll have another assassination attempt against you."

Chrom just laughed at the obviously empty threat. "Don't worry," Chrom stated, holding out his mug. "It's just between us."

"And no telling Sumia either. Or anybody, for that matter," Robin warned, before knocking his own mug against Chrom's and the two drained them. "Wow, this is strong stuff."

"Has to be, I suppose, to stave off the cold," Chrom said with a shrug. "I'm going to bed. Pleasant dreams, Robin. And try not to dream about Cherche. Try not to think of the color pink, it might help." He barely dodged Robin's empty mug as he bolted from the room, laughing raucously. Sighing, Robin picked up his mug, placed it at the empty bar, and went to bed himself.

 **AN:**

 **I'm baaaaaaack. Earlier than I expected, mostly because one of the later chapters in this update is more fitting given the time of year, but I digress lol. No, the Valm Arc isn't complete, honestly it's barely started, but I decided to upload what I have anyway.**

 **So, my personal favorite part of the game: the war with Valm. Always had a soft spot for Gaiden, and I had a good kind of aneurysm when I heard about Shadows of Valentia, and it lived up to all of my hopes and dreams. Taking a trip to Valm made my day in Awakening. Sure, things could have been done better, and I'll be attempting to address them in this story, and it's going to be a tremendous gagglefuck that hopefully retains some level of quality, but yeah.**

 **Also, obviously planning on RobinxCherche. I just put up all their names on a dartboard while I was drunk and threw darts until one stuck, since no one has responded to my poll** **. My fault for being such an asshole before, but oh well lmao. I really like Cherche (Wyvern Lord Master Race) so I'm good with it. Might have been more upset if it was like Anna or Flavia or something. I have NO idea how I would have worked them lmao. I mean, I technically hit Anna first, but the dart didn't stick because drunk so I didn't count it.**

" **How many views do we have, Nowi?"**

" **I dunno, a thousand…something? But look, no hecklers!"**

 **Surprised I reached that many views, and without the trolls that have infested the entire internet. Even have a few followers. Surprised and a bit humbled that this literal steaming pile of BS managed to pull that much attention. Is this feeling why so many authors are constantly gushing over their readers? I mean, I'm not about to start because I don't really do compliments that aren't of the back-handed/sardonic variety, but it feels nice, so thanks I guess.**


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter 64**

 **Two Wyverns**

They were well on their way to Port Ferox now, four days after arriving at the Coliseum. The Shepherds and the two detachments of the Ylissean Army who'd arrived at the Coliseum the previous day would be holding the largest port, along with a battalion of Feroxi troops. Flavia and Basilio were each heading to the two other major ports along the coast, each with two battalions in tow; when the Valmese arrived, they'd be in for a hell of a fight. To Robin's disappointment (though he did his best to conceal it around Chrom) Cherche had been ordered to remain behind by Virion.

Robin was currently atop Dean, his steel lance resting idly on his shoulder, and the two were walking along the ground next to Chrom's horse. The air was warm enough here for Dean to stay awake and alert, but the higher you went, the progressively colder it got, so he was grounded for the time being. He hoped Port Ferox would be warm enough for combat operations, but he supposed they'd see when they got there. The pegasi belonging to Phila, Cordelia, and Sumia were rather unhappy with the low air temperatures as well, and so most of them were grounded by choice as well.

He was just laughing at a joke with Chrom involving two bears and a high-five when Stahl called up from the rear of the column.

"Flier at the rear!" He cried out. "Profile looks like a wyvern! We aren't expecting company and Cordelia suspects it's native to the nearby mountains, permission to engage!?"

 _Wyverns in Ferox?_ Robin thought in confusion. _The mountains here are too cold for them. No, this is a trained mount…that Plegian messenger from the Coliseum, perhaps?_ "Negative, do not engage!" Robin called back before anyone could answer Stahl. "I saw another wyvern in the Coliseum's roost, it might be their rider," he explained to Chrom.

"You speak wyvern," Lissa said, "go back and talk to it!"

"I don't 'speak wyvern', Lissa," Robin corrected. "Wyverns are just really obvious about their emotions, you just have to pay attention to them!" Dean roared at that. "See, Dean agrees with me. And he's a bit hungry. I didn't forget to feed you, did I, boy?" he cooed to the giant reptile.

"Lissa has a point," Chrom pointed out, rolling his eyes at Robin's mothering. "You understand wyverns better than just about anyone in Ylisse, except perhaps Captain Phila, but most of her knowledge pertains to killing them. Go back and talk to this rider, if there is one, and if it's wild, determine if it's scouting out our convoy to attack."

"A lone wyvern wouldn't attack a caravan this size and Regna Ferox is too cold for them to live in," Robin insisted, "but you have a point. I'll go back and see what the rider wants; he'll probably be more willing to listen to me. Wyvern riders gotta stick together, you know."

"Whatever," Chrom said with a laugh, shooing Robin away with his hand. Robin nudged Dean with his heels slightly, and the wyvern obeyed his prompt, taking off vertically. Chrom's cape was blown over his head by the downdraft, and Robin laughed as he flew away, Chrom's curses following him.

He brought Dean around and flew to the back of the column, just as the flier got within distance to see it more clearly. As he thought, there was a rider on its back. The convoy slowed to a halt and Robin landed at its rear, far enough away so the unknown rider would know that they should speak to him.

The other rider soon landed in front of him, and as their mount's wings tucked into their body, Robin was outright dumbfounded by who it was.

"Cherche?" He asked in shock. It was definitely her, but Robin barely recognized anything but her face and her hair. Instead of her maid's outfit, she was now wearing a stylized steel breastplate, pauldrons, and greaves, and the neck of her armor sprouted into a pair of wyvern wings that flowed back along her cheeks. In her right hand she held a long-hafted, thin headed warhammer that Walter had once told him was called a "lucerne". He'd said one of his best friends wielded one. He'd also noted that blunt weapons like that were effective against armored foes, and Robin had been considering having a few commissioned for the Shepherds, but all thoughts of combat were driven from his mind by the sight in front of him.

"Ah, Sir Robin, a pleasure to see you again," Cherche greeted with a respectful bow in her saddle. Her mount let out an impressive roar in agreement. "Oh, you've met him already, Minerva? Oh, _he's_ the one who pet you the other day?" Minerva roared again. "Oh, isn't that the sweetest thing!" She turned back to Robin, smiling widely. "Thank you for giving her attention. The Feroxi have been leery of her, and despite my best efforts, she has felt a bit neglected, especially since she's been unable to fly for long."

It took Robin a full five seconds to pull himself together. "T-that was your wyvern?" Robin stuttered out. "I thought it was a Plegian messenger's or something!"

Cherche giggled. "Not quite. Yes, I've had Minerva since…oh, I was about nine when I found her." _You tamed a wyvern at nine winters!?_ "She's never even been to Archanea before last year, and has never been to Plegia at all…regardless, I wish to speak to King Chrom. Might you take me to him?"

"Y-yeah, sure. C'mon Dean." He nudged Dean, but he didn't move. "Dean, c'mon. Up!" Dean's gaze, however, was fixated on Minerva, much like it had been the past few nights when he'd gone up to see him. _You've got to be kidding me._ "C'mon numbskull!" he barked, gently tapping the top of his head with the butt of his lance. Dean shook his head from the sudden prod and craned his neck back at Robin questioningly. "C'mon, up we go, we're taking them to talk to Chrom." Dean growled his affirmation and turned forward. He leered at Minerva for a few seconds, while she simply stared at him back impassively, before unfurling his wings and taking off. Cherche and Minerva were right behind them, and they reached the front of the column shortly.

"Ah, Lady Cherche," Chrom greeted when he saw who it was. "I wasn't aware you were a wyvern rider."

"I am unsurprised Lord Virion did not tell you. He insists that I should not have to fight," Cherche responded, before bowing in her saddle. "Regardless, I wish to join you, sire. This may not be my country, but it is my cause. I would be honored to fight alongside the heroes of Ylisse. And Minerva here is hungry for a bite of the action as well." On cue, Minerva let out a deafening cry of challenge. It didn't bother Robin, of course, he was used to wyvern roars, but the others flinched at the volume.

"We'd be glad to have you," Chrom stated, several orders louder than he probably intended to as he ran a finger into his ear. He stopped his motions for a second, before grinning cruelly. "Actually, I know exactly where to put you. The Shepherds normally fight in pairs, and I believe you should fight with Robin.. Robin's never actually flown into combat on a wyvern before, you see, and it would be better for everyone if a veteran like yourself were to guide him."

Cherche shot Robin a questioning glance, but for some reason he was glaring hot death at his liege. She turned back around and smiled. "I would gladly do so, milord," she answered.

"Excellent," Chrom stated happily as Robin mouthed obscenities at him. "As he's told me before, wyvern riders have to stick together." _I will kill you, and nobody will find the body,_ Robin mentally swore as Chrom's shit-eating grin reached face-splitting levels. "I'll leave you two to it then. Shepherds, forward!" Without further ado, and even as Robin was drawing his finger across his neck to Chrom, the Shepherds began marching again.

"So, Sir Robin, have you truly never flown into combat on your partner before?" Cherche asked curiously.

Robin continued glaring after Chrom for a second, before turning and trying desperately to look anywhere but directly at her while still maintaining the appearance that he was, for politeness' sake. "That's correct. I didn't even really have any formal training; it was actually Cordelia who taught me how to fly."

"The red-tressed pegasus knight?" Cherche inquired, and Robin nodded. Cherche shook her head. "That wont' do at all."

"What?" Robin asked, nonplussed."Cordelia's an excellent flier, I'll have you know!" he said, a bit defensively. He'd gotten rather close to Cordelia over the course of the Plegian campaign, and the thought of anyone disparaging her was downright offensive. Even if they were gorgeous.

"Peace, Sir Robin," Cherche said, "I did not mean to insult Captain Sedgar. I simply mean that pegasi and wyverns do not fight anywhere near the same way."

Robin's mind went blank. "What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously as the trailing end of the column marched past.

"Pegasus knights focus on maneuverability, speed, and hit and run attacks," Cherche explained. "Wyverns are quite simply not fast or maneuverable enough for those tactics. Wyverns should use their superior strength and naturally armored hides to punch through enemy formations to hit unit commanders or priority targets, not simply harass them from above or pick off weakened units on the flanks. Some of the more aggressive wyvern riders even go as far as to land in the center of enemy formations and disrupt them, flying away only when all of their targets are dead or their life is in peril. But speed is never a wyvern's strong suit." Robin found himself nodding in agreement; some of the aerial maneuvers Cordelia had tried to push them through had just been downright impossible.

"I see," Robin said as he tore through is flight training in his mind and noticed several glaring flaws, comparing it to what Cherche had just told him. "Would you mind teaching me the 'proper' way to fight?"

"Time is short, and I know not precisely when the Valmese will arrive, but I will attempt to teach you in the time we have, Sir Robin," Cherche said humbly, bowing in her saddle again.

"Please, I'm not a 'Sir'," Robin told her, holding up his free hand. "I was never knighted or anything, anyway, I'm basically just a vagabond that Chrom picked up off the roadside. It's just Robin."

"Very well then, Robin," Cherche said politely, smiling slightly at his self-deprecation. "Follow me, and I will guide you through some basic maneuvers. Minerva, away!" Minerva roared briefly, before unfurling her wings and blasting off into the air.

"Dean, up!" This time, he didn't hesitate, but he nearly clipped a tree as he took off after the other pair. "Whoa, watch where you're going, Dean. I know she's a pretty wyvern, but pay attention!" As he looked up from admonishing his partner, he saw _gods above that is a lot of skin,_ he thought numbly, staring at the very revealing back side of Cherche's outfit. _Wow, she has a nice complexion, and really nice muscle toning in her back, and wow I can almost see her a_ \- as Minerva turned quite suddenly and Dean went to follow, Robin was nearly pitched from his seat due to his lapse in concentration. Dean felt him almost slip, and he looked back at Robin with a knowing look.

"Yeah, I know," Robin grumbled, adjusting himself back into the saddle properly. "'I know she's a pretty woman, but pay attention!'". Dean gave a chuffing sound that Robin had learned to interpret as him laughing, and the pair turned back forward, trying their best to not focus on things that didn't actually require their attention.

000

As Dean and Robin landed outside of Port Ferox just after sunset, Robin was just as exhausted as his partner. Cherche was nearly as brutal a taskmaster as Frederick; she had absolutely refused to allow them to even land and rest until he at least had the basics covered up to her standards. Dean laid down immediately where he was, panting heavily and shivering from the cold air.

"Yeah, you and me both," Robin muttered as he collapsed against Dean's side, shaking from the cold himself. Despite his exhaustion, he conjured a large fireball in his hand and held it out to Dean. The wyvern shifted himself so he was curled around Robin and his heat source, greedily drinking in the warmth.

"Are you alright, Robin?" Cherche's voice asked, her voice muted somewhat by Dean's leathery wings that had covered him.

"Spent too much time behind desks and not enough in the practice field the past couple of years," Robin responded tiredl. "Gimme a bit, I'll be ready to go again," he added with as much bravado as he could muster. Dean grumbled his dissatisfaction at that.

"That will not be necessary," Cherche said with a giggle. "We are done for the day. I will meet you out here in the morning for your next lesson."

 _Never again in my life will I train with you, devil-woman._ "Sounds good," he said aloud. "You'll probably find me here. I don't think I can move again."

Cherche laughed at that, but Robin was too tired to appreciate the pleasantness of the sound properly. "I would surely hope not, the pair of you will freeze to death. Need I come back out here before I retire in order to ensure you make it to a proper lodging?"

"No, no, that isn't necessary," Robin insisted. "We'll make it inside…somehow. Nowi could probably carry us or something. She loves Dean, she'll come looking for him tonight when she sees he's not in the stables."

"The little girl?" Cherche asked skeptically. "You would force a child to haul you around like luggage?"

"That 'little girl' is older than the rest of the Shepherds combined, and happens to be an actual dragon," Robin corrected with a laugh. He wished he could see Cherche's face twist in surprise, as so many people did when they learned of Nowi's true nature. "She could probably juggle the pair of us now, actually." Nowi's dragon form had nearly doubled in size since they had first found her. Nowi simply shrugged and laughed when Robin had asked why, but now he was honestly terrified of her; she was nearly thirty feet tall in dragon form.

"I see," Cherche said, her surprise evident in her tone. "Well, be that as it may, I will still ensure that you make it to bed myself if I have to."

 _Oh gods, Chrom would never let me hear the end of it if he sees us enter my tent together._ "Nope, not necessary!" He shouted, jumping up with such speed that his head bumped against Dean's wing. The wyvern grumbled and reluctantly moved it as Robin stood upright fully, still conjuring the fireball. "See? We're both up." Dean still hadn't moved, but Robin wasn't about to let that little detail concern him.

"You're a mage?" Cherche asked as Minerva backed up a pace from his conjured fire, and Robin nodded. "I am honestly quite surprised. Most wyverns are quite averse to magic, as you can see, yet Dean seems supremely comfortable around that flame."

"It was my magic that freed him," Robin explained, reaching down and petting Dean fondly. "He was a little leery at first, of course, but it only took about two weeks of suffering the cold of Ylissean winters for him to become quite comfortable with magical fire. He still doesn't particularly like wind magic, which is understandable, but lightning and fire don't bother him. I actually can cast from atop him."

"Interesting," Cherche commented. "Perhaps I will try to work that into your training regimen…I will see you in the morning, Robin," she finished, flashing him a winning smile that made the cold Feroxi night seem like a midday at the Farfort during summer.

"Y-yeah, see you," he stuttered back. Cherche curtseyed, before leading Minerva by the reins into the town. Robin noticed once again how much of her back was exposed by her riding outfit as she sauntered away, but he was honestly far too cold to think anything besides "how in the nine hells is she not frozen to death?" He turned to Dean, who had begrudgingly climbed to his feet. "You ready to get inside where it's warm, buddy?" Dean nodded vigorously. "Alright, let's get moving then…I have a feeling tomorrow isn't going to be any easier than today."

000

The Shepherds had spent a little over a week in Port Ferox now, and Robin had finally earned the "Cherche Stamp of Approval" for his wyvern riding abilities. It was nightmarish training, of course, taking up practically his entire day, every day, but he could feel himself breaking off the rust in his joints that had apparently accumulated during their comfortable peace in Ylisse. Dean was much the same; Robin had taken him flying regularly, but those were more pleasure cruises than actual training, and Dean had had to work off his own coating of rust. But now, here the pair of them was, grinning like idiots as Cherche declared them competent.

"I apologize for not being able to work magic into your training regimen," Cherche said with an apologetic bow. "I'm afraid I know too little of magic for me to properly create tactics involving them."

"Tactics are my specialty, and magic's my forte," Robin responded with a laugh. "We'll figure something out on our own, more than likely. Have you ever tried to learn magic?"

"I've learned some intermediary healing spells, since I first trained to be a cleric" Cherche answered, "but advanced cleric spells or any offensive magic is beyond my knowledge, I'm afraid."

"How many women's fathers or husbands have stabbed Virion before to make you have to learn healing magic?" Robin wondered aloud, causing Cherche to laugh, but she didn't deny it. "Anyway, if you can do basic cleric work, then you're at least capable of basic magic. Would you like me to teach you?"

"I appreciate the offer, but no," Cherche responded sadly. "Minerva is quite distasteful of magic, and I won't push her out of her comfort zone for curiosity's sake." Minerva snorted in agreement.

Robin was disappointed, because he'd rather come to enjoy spending most of his day with her and was reluctant for it to end (not that he'd ever admit it to that smugly grinning idiot of a best friend of his), but he tried not to let it show on his face. "I understand," he answered politely. "Our partners come first."

Cherche smiled at that. "Indeed they do. Why, I remember the one time-" she was interrupted, however, by a horn call in the distance. "What on earth was that?" She wondered.

Robin, however, recognized that horn very well. It was Frederick's rallying horn, the eternal sign of bad news. "We're out of time," he muttered forebodingly. "The Valmese have arrived."

 **AN:**

 **I realized that having Cordelia teaching a wyvern rider how to fight would probably be pretty bad. I mean, pegasi and wyverns are two entirely separate species, with different pros and cons. Plus, Cherche and Robin need something to bond over, and I find the whole "finding a date for Minerva" thing to be a bit too hammy for a main character's romance. Maybe I'll reference it later or something. Who knows?**

 **I also gave Cherche a lucerne because she joins with a Hammer in her inventory, but the hammers in Awakening are so fucking disproportioned it isn't funny. Like wielding those things with two hands would be a chore, one-handed would be outright impossible. The heads of the hammers look like they'd weigh 80+ pounds. Lucernes, on the other hand, are long hafted, relatively light-weight as far as hammers go, and still do the whole "basically ignoring armor" thing, so they're perfect for a mounted warrior who spent years fighting heavily armored knights. She'll also be using lances as well, since her supports with a couple of people mention her using lances.**


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65**

 **The Sea-Comers**

"Alpha Company, take the southern pier with half of the Feroxi troops!" Walter barked at the assembled troops. "Beta Company, you've got the northern pier, take the other half of the Feroxi warriors! The Shepherds and Gamma company will hold the main pier. Remember the plan, follow it, and we will achieve victory together! For Ylisse! For Ferox!"

"For Ylisse! For Ferox!" The warriors before him cried, before they were led away by their respective leaders. Walter turned to Phila. "We follow Robin's plan. Assemble the troops at the designated chokepoints, and prepare for the assault."

"Right away, General," Phila said with a salute, before striding away and beginning to bark orders at the assembled troops.

Walter then turned back to Robin, who was gazing out at the dozens of warships that were just becoming visible on the horizon from atop Dean. "Tactician," Walter stated, "The troops will soon be in position."

"This is worrisome," Robin muttered. "There are at least three dozen warships there."

"I know little of naval warfare, Robin," Walter told him. "The Great Sea of Bersia has never been traversed, so navies are rather pointless other than mild disruption of fishing villages during times of war. Why is that worrisome?"

"Because the standard assault group in Archanea is only six ships," Robin responded gravely, and Walter's frowned deepened. "Either their main invasion fleet is bold enough to try landing without having a properly established beach head, or their navy is absolutely monstrous in size, and can afford three dozen vessels for a torch party."

"The Valmese favor cavalry tactics," Walter reminded him, "and horses require more space on vessels than men. Also, according to Duke Virion, Valmese maneuvers are aggressive by nature. It would not surprise me if they were simply being bold."

"Yeah, maybe," Robin muttered doubtfully as one dozen of the ships began maneuvering so their broad side would be pointed toward the harbor as they landed. The other two dozen branched off, each heading for the other port towns to their north and south. "We'll see soon enough, I suppose." He licked his finger and held it up into the air, before cursing. "Dammit, we can't use a fire attack to torch the vessels, the wind is coming from the sea, and it would just set the port alight."

"Then we will meet them in straight combat!" Walter declared, pounding his fist against his chest. Several of the more enthusiastic Shepherds, Sully and Vaike in particular, let out roars of agreement. "They shall not be here for long!"

"Do you know if Chrom's got the second line set up yet?" Robin asked him.

"He should have, by now," Walter reasoned. Their plan was to use the Shepherds and some of the Ylissean soldiers to lure the Valmese cavalry into the narrow streets of Port Ferox, and into waiting ambushes by the bulk of their forces. The narrow streets and alleys would greatly compromise the maneuverability of the cavalry and funnel them right into their weapons. "The Valmese will not know what hit them. Your plan is sound."

"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," Robin said, reminding him of something Walter had told him during the Plegian campaign as the battle group pulled up to the dock, still facing them broadside. "We can only hope their commander is fool enough to fall for it."

"Speak of the devil," Phila said from behind Walter, having returned from arranging the men. She was pointing at the deck of what was obviously the flagship, where a man, already mounted on a destrier, was brandishing a spear.

"I am General Dalton of the Valmese Army!" the man declared in a slight accent reminiscent of Gregor's. "Our Emperor, Walhart the Conqueror, claims dominion over these lands! You will grant him all of your provender, your loyalty, and your every possession! You will surrender this land's sacred treasure, the Fire Emblem! Do this, and your lives will be spared, and you will be granted a place in our Empire. Resist, and we will slaughter you and your people to the last! Now, kneel before us, and swear fealty to the mighty Valmese Empire!"

"These savages will never listen to reason," Chrom snarled, surprising everyone with his sudden appearance, Frederick by his side as ever. "Everyone, prepare to engage! For Ylisse!" Dalton frowned at Chrom's declaration, and turned back, likely ordering his troops to prepare to disembark."Robin, return to the second ranks, take command. I will lead the fight from here."

"Why bother having a tactician if nobody follows his bloody orders?" Robin said with exasperation, thinking back on their strategy session where he'd insisted Chrom lead the second rank, before urging Dean to take off.

"Robin has a point, milord," Walter responded. "You are too important to this continent to risk your life over so simple a thing as being in the front of the line during the assault."

"Victory is not achieved from the throne, Walter," Chrom retorted, "but from the front. I cannot willingly order my men to battle if I am not willing to lead them myself."

Walter was about to retort about how nobody sane or not lacking wits would question his willingness to do battle personally, before the sound of creaking wood sounded across the port and silenced him. The ships, to Walter's surprise, were designed so that the upper half of the broadside would fold down, creating a ramp and allowing the deployment of troops in perfect formation. His admiration of that design insight, however, was brought short by the sight of what awaited them within the ships.

"Orcs!" Walter snarled vehemently, tightening his grip on his mace as the invaders let out a bloodlust-filled battle cry. Beyond all reason, there they were; two ranks of Orc heavy riders, mounted atop giant boars, bearing scythes, axes, and long-shafted, dual-headed morning stars. They shifted about in anticipation as even more movement occurred behind them. More Orcs, from what Walter could see.

"What are Orcs doing here!?" Chrom shouted in surprise.

"It matters not, they die all the same!" roared Walter furiously, startling Chrom with the sheer amount of rage he was exuding. _They would dare violate this world with their taint? They would dare invade my country!?_. "Lancers, in front! Archers, prepare to fire!" The Ylisseans hesitated momentarily, as the Orcs let out another war cry, with such volume that the very air seemed to tremble in fear. "Move!" he barked, snapping the troops out of their shock. Just in time, too; the Orc riders had charged down the ramp, and were barreling toward them at all speed.

"Show no fear!" Walter shouted as the Orcs closed the distance, they and their mounts both squealing in bloodlust. "Give no quarter, for you shall receive none! Drive these beasts from our shores! Think only of the glory of Heaven!" The Orcs were close enough now; the archers loosed their arrows. Several of the riders were knocked from their mounts, but the Orc's thick hides and even thicker armor ensured that nowhere near enough of them were slain. Walter conjured a line of ice pillars just before the riders hit their ranks. It killed several of them and disrupted the line, but Walter still winced as the two forces met in an ear-splitting crash of steel. Most of the riders were slain, impaling themselves on the lancers' line, but they managed to disrupt it, and some of them managed to peel away after striking some of his soldiers down, pulling back toward the ship. _You will pay for that,_ he swore as his men rushed to help the wounded who managed to survive.

"Orc infantry!" Walter warned as the next units came down from the Valmese ships; at least fifty of the hogs were charging down the ramp, barely in a coherent formation, more along the lines of a horde. Orc discipline was always lacking. Such barbarism was another reason they had to die. "Archers, pick off the straggling riders before they regroup! Swordsmen, to the front!" Walter muscled past the back ranks of the line as the last of the Orc riders fell to arrows, and he reached the front seconds ahead of the Orc infantry. Chrom was right beside him, his face fixed into a worried frown.

"For Ylisse!" Chrom cried, barely audible above the howling of the Orc horde.

"For Ylisse!" the soldiers in behind him echoed. Then the enemy infantry line crashed against their own, and battle was commenced.

Walter was familiar with this opponent, and snapped easily into the old rhythm of combat, despite the two years since he'd last faced these creatures. He swung his mace viciously, snarling almost as madly as his opponents as their skulls caved in, their bones broke, and the flanges of his mace carved furrows into their flesh. Around him, however, the Ylissean troops, and even some of the Shepherds, were caught off guard by the sheer ferocity of the Orc troops. The hogs loved battle above all else, and set into their opponents in a frenzied, animalistic rush of bloodlust.

"Do not fear!" Walter roared as he bashed an Orc across the face with his shield, stunning it long enough for his mace to follow. "The hogs die just as surely as any human! Fight on, brave men of Ylisse! Fight!" His encouragement seemed to work; the soldiers began setting into the invaders with renewed fervor, though far too many of their own men were dying. They just simply weren't used to opponents this savage. Walter took grim solace in the fact that at least as many Orcs were dying…though there were yet more pouring out of the ship.

"Walter!" Phila cried from her position in the air above him. "There's some foul looking mage on their vessel, he's preparing to cast some dark spell!"

 _Foul looking mage?_ Walter wondered absently as he slew yet another of the pigs. _What does…oh Lord._ "Lich!" He snarled. There was only one reason a Lich would be leading Orcs: Ghouls. "Phila, slay him if possible, disrupt him if not! He must not be allowed to finish his incantation!"

Phila dove in to obey, only to barely avoid a volley of arrows. "They've archers aboard!" she shouted in frustration as she pulled out of range. Feeling a need to vent her frustration, she threw a javelin down into the Orc infantry below and cursed the situation.

"Your Majesty!" Walter shouted, looking desperately for the blue-haired King. There he was! He was fighting two opponents at once, skillfully parrying or blocking their blows with the Fire Emblem, but unable to get in a proper strike between their assaults. "We have to get aboard that vessel and stop that Lich!"

"We can't afford to break ranks to infiltrate their command ship!" Chrom shouted in response as he parried an axe, before slicing Falchion across the creature's stomach and stabbing the other in the throat as they wound up their own attack. "We can barely hold our ground here!"

"Liches are necromancers!" Walter cried, and Chrom's face drained of color. "It might be planning to-" He stopped abruptly, however, as his sixth sense spiked. "We are too late," he cursed. "Everyone, fall back!" He shouted in fear, as the sensation of dark magic flooded his senses. "Fall back to the second line!" The Ylisseans struggled to break free of the blood-frenzied Orcs, and Walter cursed as he noticed some of the Orc corpses begin twitching, despite being riddled with clearly fatal wounds. Just as the last of the Ylissean soldiers disengaged and fled into the streets and alleys surrounding the pier, the slain Orcs began rising and joining their living compatriots in the chase, weapons forgotten. Walter knew better than to be relieved, though; they were more than strong enough to kill with their bare hands. "Retreat!" He urged again as some of the soldiers, most notably Sully and Vaike, turned to stand their ground. The stragglers reluctantly turned about and fled, even as the Orcs and newly revived Ghouls began giving chase.

The next few minutes of flight were hectic for Walter; he had been separated from most of the Shepherds, with only Gaius and Tharja among the faces around him that he knew personally. The small group fled, with Walter in the lead, to one of the secondary ambush positions. He could hear the braying and howling of Orcs and the strangled grunts and screeches of the Ghouls behind them as they pulled back. They did not have much of a lead on them.

"Mortars, fire on the buildings behind us!" He shouted without hesitation as he burst into the market square, the site of the secondary position that he'd led them to. There were only about twenty infantrymen visible there, but Walter knew that mortar operators had been perched on the rooftops around them, as they had at all checkpoints; the infantry were mostly there as bait to encourage the Valmese to charge ahead. Miriel had succeeded in recreating Bersian mortars during the two-year period of peace; Walter could only hope they were as destructive as he remembered them being.

"Firing!" one of the bombardiers shouted, before a resounding bang echoed across the square. Less than a second later, over a dozen more followed. After a short delay as the projectiles traveled, the entire alley behind them turned orange. Brick and wood were smashed and splintered, thatch roofs caught ablaze, and the very earth seemed to shake beneath Walter's feet. Still, however, he could see movement in the smoke, and a Ghoul limped out of it, missing an arm but still glaring at the Ylisseans hatefully.

"Again!" Walter ordered as he struck down the abomination with a fireball. And again, the mortars fired. But they did not stop there; the mortars continued firing into the streets the first line had come from, probably unnerved by the sight of the Ghoul, until even the buildings could not withstand the assault, and they collapsed.

Walter surveyed the carnage with grim satisfaction. "They will not have survived that, I think," he said smugly. He turned back to his men, who were now rubbing at their ringing ears. The sound of mortars firing in the distance, dozens of them, pulled his attention. _The other checkpoints will need help._ "This position is secured. Ten men, remain behind with the mortars and a signal flare in case the Orcs find a way around. The rest of you, with me! We are reinforcing the other positions!"

000

Robin was frowning heavily. Dean was perched atop the roof of the governor's modest mansion on the very east side of the town, on a hill that provided a perfect view of the town. He had a spyglass in hand, and he saw everything that had happened thus far. Orcs had come to Ylisse somehow, cohorts with the Valmese. He had witnessed the very brief attempt at stemming the invasion at the pier. He had witnessed the necromancer aboard the command ship reviving the slain Orcs, and the subsequent retreat of the Ylissean Army. That was an hour ago; the pier was completely under Valmese control, as much as he didn't like to admit it. He'd watched the other eleven ships in the battle group dismount even more Orcs; there were now several hundred in the assault. He had witnessed the virtual destruction of the city as the mortar ambushers laid waste to the Orc pursuers. But still, it was not enough. He saw several positions be overrun by the sheer press of bodies arrayed against them, and cursed at the thought of all of those good men dying. And he witnessed as periodically the slain Orcs would rise as Ghouls and continue their bloody rampage. Any slain Ghoul that was not utterly destroyed would also be revived. Squads of pegasus knights were darting too and fro across the skies, raining javelins down into the streets to cover the overwhelmed soldiers below, but less than a hundred of them would never tip the scales. Not with the numbers they were facing.

"We're being routed," Robin concluded unhappily. It was a slow rout, and not all that obvious, but things couldn't continue like this. Unless the bodies were utterly destroyed by mortar fire or fire magic, the Valmese necromancer could revive them, distance be damned apparently, while they didn't have that luxury.

"What are your orders, Robin?" Cordelia said behind him resolutely. He was with the other fliers; Cherche, Sumia, and Cordelia. Phila was hovering over the center of town, near the market square, which told him that Walter was somewhere near that position. They were currently moving toward the town's Temple of Naga on the north side of town.

Robin frowned further as he noticed that the Valmese soldiers themselves were disembarking now, confident that the area was under their control. The archers that had stopped Phila were included. "We need an infantry unit to tie up those archers," he concluded, collapsing the spyglass and pocketing it. "If we can tie them up, we can get aboard that vessel and kill the necromancer, and stop getting our arses kicked."

"Robin, our infantry is too preoccupied with those undead," Cherche pointed out grimly. "If we take troops from one of those positions, then it will assuredly fall."

"I know," Robin said grimly as he surveyed the carnage again. "Cordelia, give the order to abandon the north side of town. It's mostly residential, and it's empty now, so it isn't a critical area. Have all forces rendezvous and reinforce the southern warehouse area."

"Yes, sir!" Cordelia said, saluted smartly, and then took off to deliver the orders.

"Why not have them meet us?" Cherche questioned.

"Yes, I don't understand," Sumia piped up. "If we're pulling troops out of their positions, should we not be using them to tie up the archers?"

"If the Valmese weren't watching us, I'd say yes," Robin said gravely. "They're reacting too well to our maneuvers; they've got to have hidden observers. That, or that necromancer is powerful enough to see through his puppets' eyes, but I don't even want to think about that. The second we moved our soldiers out of their positions to attack, they'd be hit by a wall of bodies. So, we're going to consolidate most of our troops in one location and make it look like we're trying to rally for a counter attack. Then we're going to rendezvous with the good General," he said, pointing at the Temple of Naga in the distance. "If the Valmese and the Orcs follow our troops out of the north, that should allow us to sneak through with the General and whatever men he has and hit the docks. While they've got the archers tied up, we'll put a stop to this necromancer, and maybe we can make some real headway. We're outfighting them; we just can't keep up with that damned necromancer. If they stopped being revived, then we'd be able to win."

"A sound plan, as always, Robin," Sumia said with a fond smile as Cordelia became visible once more.

"Yeah, we'll see about that in a few minutes when we're up to our necks in those damned Ghouls," Robin muttered.

"I thought I'd given a royal decree that said you weren't allowed to doubt yourself?" Sumia said teasingly.

"And I thought I'd given you a tactical command not to wear boots that you trip in," Robin shot back, and Sumia laughed.

"You should not doubt yourself, Robin," Cherche spoke up, her tone serious, "especially in front of the troops following your orders. It sows doubt among the ranks that you're competent."

Robin recoiled at that. _Basic morale management,_ Robin chided himself. _Quit being a mopey bastard for five minutes, would you?_ "You're right, Cherche, thank you," he said aloud. "As whoever taught me tactics used to say, 'confidence is correctness'. At least I'm pretty sure that's where I got that adage from."

"A strange way of putting it, but yes," Cherche said with a small laugh.

"The troops are moving," Cordelia called out as she got within earshot. "Do we have a plan?"

"Yep!" Robin said as confidently as he could. He pulled out his spyglass again and sure enough, the Orcs were moving to the south along with his troops. "Sumia, catch her up on it as we fly. The Orcs are moving, and I'm not sure how long their commander will fall for it. We need to move, now."

000

Walter nearly collapsed on the church steps as his ragged group finally reached the Temple of Naga checkpoint. Unfortunately, it had already been overrun; the Feroxi and Ylissean soldiers stationed here had been wiped out entirely. They'd tried to secure three other checkpoints after the market place was secured, but two of them were completely overrun, and the last was falling right as they arrived. In the process of trying to reinforce the other checkpoints, most of the line troops following him had been slain. He'd rendezvoused with most of the Shepherds however; all that were missing were Lissa, Chrom, Lon'qu, Frederick, Panne, Nowi, and their flying troops, who Walter knew were with Robin, relaying orders and messages. Vaike was beside himself with worry, as his wife couldn't be seen flying over the battle, and hadn't been for some time now. Few of them had escaped injury at this point, even with four healers in their group. Walter himself was nearing the end of his rope, magically speaking; he had cast Curatio almost as many times as he had in Thabes, and it was beginning to take its toll on him. _I'm getting too old for this._

"We can't keep this up," Stahl gasped from atop his horse, clutching a wound to his left arm. He couldn't even use his bow now, and was relegated to sticking to his sword. Walter had tried to heal him, but after the magical strain split open his hand, Stahl had waved him off. "These damn Ghouls are relentless and can take a hell of a beating before they drop."

"They didn't follow us out of the ruins of the market place," Ricken offered. "I say we take advantage of the respite and take a break, wait for backup."

"No," Walter said tiredly as he forced himself to his feet. "We must prepare to assault the Valmese again."

"Assault the Valmese?" Vaike spat out bitterly, not getting up himself. "You saw all those troops moving south. Robin probably ordered them to regroup at wherever Chrom is. I say we go there, it's where we're needed."

"That is indeed what Robin is doing," Walter countered, "but that is entirely too conventional for him. I am willing to bet that he will come through here shortly, looking for stragglers to use for his real plan. Undoubtedly it involves assaulting the command ship. We must prepare for that."

"There is no 'real plan'," Vaike spat out bitterly. "We're getting our arses kicked here, man. It don't take a tactical genius to tell. They're getting ready for a last stand, and I say we join them."

"I say you shut the hell up," Sully snapped from atop her own horse, a head wound leaking blood across the left side of her face, not that it appeared to bother her. "You're in the damned army, you whiner, you follow the orders you're given. The General says to sit pretty and wait for Robin to show up so we can kick the Valmese off our shores; we sit pretty and wait for Robin to show up."

"Nobody asked you!" Vaike shouted at her. "My wife's out there, somewhere in that city, and my best chance of finding her is to regroup with the others!"

"Vaike, I understand that-"Walter began.

"No, man, you don't get it!" Vaike snapped, jumping to his feet. "Your wife's floating over our heads, as safe and sound as anyone can be in this city right now; while my wife is out there, alone, surrounded by gods know how many Ghouls! She ain't flying, which means she ain't transformed, which means she's in some serious trouble right now! I ain't just gonna leave her alone!"

Walter stormed over to the man and stuck his finger in his face. "You will hold your tongue and fall in line, soldier," he growled, and Vaike glared at him defiantly. "Your wife isn't the only one depending on you right now, you lummox. We all are. We can barely hold off the Ghouls on the periphery of the battle with our current numbers, if you go gallivanting of into the city after your wife, you'll only succeed in getting the both of you killed!" Walter forced himself to calm down before continuing as Vaike continued glaring. "Your wife is alive and well, Vaike. And even if she is not, you will not find her alone."

Vaike was silent for a second, fuming, before his face crumpled. "Then help me find her, dammit," he grumbled. "She's a good fighter, you know that, she can help! I…I can't just leave her alone out there. Yeah, she's a dragon, but she gets scared when she's alone…" His face screwed up and he looked down, shuddering slightly.

"I wish we could, Vaike," Walter said comfortingly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But we've no idea where she is. We would be wandering into ambush after ambush, being picked off one by one. We are in no shape for a search and rescue operation. I'm sorry, I truly am. I know what it feels like to lose a spouse and would not wish it on anyone, and I dearly wish we could spare the time to look…but as it is, our best chance of saving her is to finish the battle."

"Ze General is right, Vaike," Virion said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder comfortingly as well. "We cannot find Nowi now, ze city is simply too large, and too full of Ghouls. But after ze battle, we will rendezvous with ze rest of the Shepherds, and she will be alive and well, and you will feel like a fool for ever having doubted her. Your lovely wife is a dragon, is she not? Do you really think some mere undead would be enough to slay a dragon?"

Vaike was silent for a second, before nodding shakily. "Nah, never," he replied, his voice just as shaky as his nod. "Yer right. She's gotta be fine. I'm solid, I'm good to go. Let's go kill us some Valmese!"

"Good man," Virion said, clapping his hand on the man's shoulder and shooting Walter a wink before looking up. "Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe ze lovely Duchess of Nordenheim has a message for us." Walter looked up and, sure enough, Phila was descending quickly toward them.

"General, Robin and the rest of the Shepherds' flying units are heading this way," she said quickly as she touched down.

"Perfect," Walter said, clapping his hands together. "See, Vaike? Robin has a plan. Everything will be alright."

"Yeah, I don't know why I doubted him," Vaike said with a hollow laugh. "He's never led us wrong before."

A minute later, two wyverns and two more pegasi touched down near the front steps of the church.

"Oh, this is perfect!" Robin exclaimed as he took account of who was present. "Couldn't have asked for much more than this. We have a real shot at this now."

"So what is your plan, tactician?" Walter said with a grin.

"Simple, we assault the Valmese while Chrom holds off their main force. He's got everyone else who isn't here with him, so he should be fine for that long."

"You saw Nowi?" Vaike spoke up, shouldering past the others. "Is she okay? She's alive!?"

"Yeah, why are you so worried?" Robin asked with a chuckle. "It'd take a lot more than some Orcs to kill her. I think she's grounded, her left wing is a bit tattered, but I saw her at the warehouse, unleashing dragonfire and stomping ghouls beneath her feet, practically holding the east side of the warehouse single-handedly. She's just fine."

Vaike simply fell to the ground, laughing hysterically. Robin shot him a raised eyebrow, and then turned it to Walter, who simply signaled that he'd explain later.

"Right then," Robin said, examining the other Shepherds. "Anyone who's wounded, see the others. They've been staying out of the battle thus far; they can heal your wounds. In five minutes, we move out to the docks." As practically all the Shepherds lined up in front of the new healers, Robin turned to Walter again. "What do you know about their necromancer?"

"I'm almost certain it's a Lich," Walter spat. "Powerful necromancers who have achieved undeath for themselves. An exceedingly strong one as well, to be able to repeatedly revive the same corpses. We will have a fight on our hands when we reach him, he is clearly an experienced sorcerer. I can only hope the repetitive mass scale necromancy has drained his reserves, but I am not overly hopeful."

"Oh, wonderful," Robin deadpanned. "The Valmese troops are disembarking, and most of their cavalry is preparing to assault the warehouses. By the time we arrive, they'll probably only have their command post set up, lightly guarded. I want you commanding the bulk of the Shepherds in attacking their command post, paying particular attention to killing or distracting their archers. Once they're tied up, the fliers, me included, will attack the necromancer and this General Dalton."

"Your plan is sound," Walter stated.

"Oh no," Robin groaned. Walter raised his eyebrow. "The last time you said that, we were faced with Orcs and a necromancer. You've gone and jinxed it."

000

Robin nodded as the Shepherds burst out of the alleyways near the docks. Thankfully, General Dalton had taken his bait, and even personally led the Valmese human troops to the well-defended warehouse on the opposite end of town. He had fewer soldiers in the camp than Robin had Shepherds. The Shepherds burst into the camp without warning, torching several tents and tying up the archers almost immediately.

"Do you see the Lich?" Cherche asked quietly from atop Minerva. They were perched on a rooftop overlooking the area, as hidden as a pair of giant, fire-breathing lizards could be, and the Pegasus Knights were behind them.

"No…wait, there," Robin said, pointing towards the flagship. "He's standing in the middle of a ritual circle. I don't think he even hears the battle in the camp; he's concentrating on his spell. We've got this, let's go." With that, he urged Dean into the air, and the rest of the fliers were soon behind him. They landed roughly on the deck of the vessel less than a minute later.

Robin was immediately revolted, now that he could see the Lich up close. He had no visible skin or muscle on his hands and clearly inhuman face; he simply appeared to be an animated skeleton, wearing billowing, deep black, tattered robes, with a series of gold bangles on his wrists, and channeling dark magic between his hands in the center of the circle. His eyes and nose, or rather the holes where they once were, leaked an eerie blue flame that wisped around his skull. He ceased the spell as the impact of two wyverns on the deck broke his concentration, and he looked up to the intruders.

"I told that fool Dalton not to commit all of his men to the warehouse," the Lich rasped in a guttural tone that reeked of exasperation. "I told him you were far too clever to implement such a basic maneuver. What is the point in having a strategist if you refuse to follow his advice?"

Robin actually laughed heartily at that, surprising everyone else. "Oh gods, somebody else gets it," he sighed as he finished laughing. The Lich, if he'd had eyebrows, would probably be cocking one of them in confusion. "I said almost that same exact thing to Chrom a couple hours ago."

"It appears we strategists are doomed to be overworked and underappreciated," the Lich laughed, an eerie, grating sound. "I am Devald, chief strategist of Prince Leinhart, the rightful ruler of Arein."

Robin's grin faded. "Wait, Leinhart…Pale as a corpse, long black hair, creepy as all hells, blood drinking guy with a sword that could probably saw through a tree, teleports all over the place, dresses like a dandy, insufferably arrogant?"

"The very same," Devald chuckled. "And you are Robin, the chief tactician of Ylisse. Milord had much to say about you, after his return to Hexter."

"So, that means Regnier is working with Valm," Robin mused aloud, frowning in concern and ignoring the fact that Leinhart was apparently talking about him. "Why?"

"I know not the minds of milord or his liege," Devald stated with a shrug of his undead shoulders. "I simply advise milord in matters of battle, which he rarely listens to."

Robin frowned, before lifting his lance and pointing it at Devald. "You're surprisingly polite and reasonable, for a walking corpse," Robin stated. "If only the Risen were like that…Will you surrender? Or will you fight?"

"Neither, I am afraid," Devald stated blithely, and the others readied their weapons anyway. "Milord bade me return to him should this assault fail. Lord Regnier also wished me to pass on a message, should I have the opportunity: 'Surrender to the Conqueror. We share a common foe, and your delusions of sovereignty only ensure this world's destruction'… Before you ask, he did not elaborate, and I did not ask him to."

"A common foe?" Robin repeated, and Devald nodded, the flames in his eye sockets flickering slightly. _What foe do we have in common with him?_ "Well, I'm not Chrom and don't presume to speak for him, but I can confidently guess that he'd tell you to stick that offer where the sun doesn't shine." He then leveled his lance again. "Surrender, now."

"A pity," Devald sighed. "It was a pleasure meeting you, tactician Robin. I am both glad and concerned to see that Prince Leinhart's assessment of you was not in error." Before anyone could do anything further, Devald began fading from sight. Robin cast a spell at him, but it passed right through his fading form.

"Damn, it was an astral projection," Robin cursed as Devald's illusion disappeared entirely. He was worried, however. If he could channel such a powerful resurrection spell repeatedly, especially through an astral projection likely from across the sea, his power must have been extraordinary. He turned back to the others, who were looking at him expectantly. "Well, that's done with, I suppose. I don't sense any more dark magic, so the Ghouls have probably stopped resurrecting. Let's regroup with the army and get rid of these invaders."

 **AN:**

 **OH SHIT**

 **THERE ARE ORCS WORKING WITH VALM**

 **YOU ALL TOTALLY DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING, RIGHT?**

 **Valm is already shaping up to be a clusterfuck lmao**

 **Astral projections aren't exactly canonically a thing in either Fire Emblem or Kingdom Under Fire, but for some reason Chrom never sees Validar when he goes to help Robin outside the camp after they meet him on Carrion Isle, and later on they don't attack him at all either. I mean, either Chrom and Robin are super duper dumb and decide to just let the evil villain monologue and mind-fuck Robin because reasons, or he's not actually there to stab in the face. I go with the latter.**

 **The first time you fight Ghouls in KUF: Crusaders, they are almost immune to melee and arrow damage. Like you're playing as Gerald trying to defend Hironeiden Castle's outer wall, and the game throws DOZENS of units of nearly melee-immune Ghouls at you. What do you have? Gerald's unit, a Paladin unit, and another unit of your choosing. Three against dozens. It's an intense clusterfuck, and it's great. The damage resistance adjustment is solely for that level, but facing down so many tough enemies was harrowing, and I tried to channel that experience here.**

 **Devald is Leinhart's adjutant in his campaign in Heroes (where they try and fail to annex Hexter into Vellond), and Leinhart spends the entire campaign ignoring all of Devald's advice and being a snarky prick to both him and everyone else. Half of Leinhart's dialogue is straight up him being a dick to Devald, and it's fucking hilarious. The remaining half is split between Leinhart flirting with Dark Elves and politics. The only completely serious part of Leinhart's is right at the end when he first meets Regnier.**

 **Also, it was INCREDIBLY difficult for me to not quote Aliens when Vaike had his little breakdown there. I wanted to show that while the Shepherds can kick ass and take names, they're only human. Or manakete. Or taguel. You know what I mean. They're human (enough) and they all have things that bother them. Given that practically all of Nowi's supports show her being afraid of being alone, I figured Nowi being lost and alone would bother Vaike. Stay tuned for more crossover fuckery!**


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66**

 **Of Sacred Blood**

Robin grimaced as he finished reading the casualty reports. In short: they'd gotten their arses handed to them, victory or not. The Khans hadn't had to deal with Devald and his sorcery, but the Valmese had made up for it in sheer numbers. And not only had they outnumbered the Feroxi defenders, they'd been just as well trained. It had been a bloodbath for both sides. It was only the home field advantage and the positioning of the Feroxi troops that had ensured their victory.

"This is trouble," he said aloud to the other leaders. They had regrouped in Port Ferox, and were currently holding an impromptu war council. Chrom, Frederick, Sumia, the Khans, Walter, Virion, and all of the unit commanders who were present for the battle were in the ruined bar that they'd turned into their command post at the moment. It was a bit crowded, though; Robin was wondering if they shouldn't move to the now-abandoned harbormaster's office. "We got trounced, even though we won. Seventy percent casualties across the board and Port Ferox is practically uninhabitable from all of the mortar fire. The other two ports are livable, but still in shambles. The only good piece of news from this is that we managed to capture their ships intact, but that does us little good."

"This is trouble, indeed," Frederick agreed gravely. "Feroxi warriors are the finest east of the Long Sea. If they are having trouble, we are _all_ in trouble."

"That's not the half of it," Flavia grumbled from her seat. Half of her head was concealed by bandages; she'd been nearly decapitated by the commander in charge of assaulting the small port she'd taken troops to defend, and as it was she'd lost a significant portion of her scalp to the leader's axe. She'd returned the favor, though, and Libra had managed to regrow her scalp. She had a bit of a bald spot underneath the bandages, but the hair would grow again in time. "This was just the vanguard, but a taste of the meal yet to come."

"When the main army arrives, they'll wash over the continent in weeks," Basilio added grimly. He had escaped serious injury, but his troops had sustained nearly ninety percent casualties, and he'd had to assault the Valmese command post almost completely alone to drive them off. He was absolutely covered in bruises and minor lacerations. He was also favoring his right leg, getting knocked over and trampled at one point. "There is no way we could drive them back and defend our people. It would be a slaughter."

"Even with the restructuring of the Army, I am troubled by the numbers they fielded for this assault group," Walter added. The documents present in General Dalton's quarters had indicated that they were indeed just a torch party. "I am not sure we could repel them either."

"Ylisse is no better equipped than Regna Ferox to repel an assault from the sea," Chrom spoke up, adding to the growing pool of negativity. "Robin, what do you suggest?"

Robin was silent for a moment. An idea came to him, and he spoke up. "We need to petition Hironeiden for aid," he announced. "Their Army is the only one I can think of with the numbers to combat the army I believe we're facing. Coupled with the fact that Regnier is obviously present in Valm, working against us, I don't believe it will take much to convince King Gerald to grant us aid."

Walter frowned at that, but Chrom nodded. "A sound plan. Ylisse is simply not prepared for a war of this scale."

"That does us little good," Basilio spoke up. "Even if we can match them army to army, Regna Ferox has no navy to speak of. Neither does Ylisse, and Hironeiden will be unable to bring ships through. And if we settle for simply repelling Valm, they will eventually overrun us with repeated assaults. No, we need help from a nation that has a navy."

"Do you have somewhere in mind, oaf?" Flavia said sarcastically.

"I'm thinking of a land that borders the sea," Basilio stated, "with enough wealth to afford this campaign."

Most of the people present adopted a hopeful look as they realized what Basilio was suggesting, but Chrom's frown deepened. "No," he stated stubbornly. "Absolutely not. Out of the question. Anyone else but Plegia."

"Think boy!" Basilio barked. "They have gold, boy! Countless ships! And more importantly, we have a fart's chance in the wind without them!"

"He's crude, but he's right," Flavia added with a sigh. "Even if Hironeiden does come to our aid, we'll simply be bled dry by repeated assaults from Valm. There is only one path forward."

"Chrom," Robin said, a pleading look in his eye. He liked the idea of crawling to Plegia for aid about as much as Chrom did, but there was no other way.

Chrom looked desperately around the room, searching for someone else to support him, but found the same resigned looks on everyone's face. "Fine," he muttered, almost growling. "Frederick, send a messenger to Plegia at once, requesting a summit. Let us hope this 'Validar' is more reasonable than the last King…"

"Indeed," Robin agreed. He already had a bad feeling about this, but they had no other options.

"Dismissed," Chrom grumbled, waving his hands at the rest of the group. They all began filing out slowly, but Flavia lingered behind for a moment as Robin moved to speak to Chrom alone.

"You know," she said with a half smile, "for your first time against a force that strong, you did rather well," she told them. "You've both grown quite adept. You should be proud." Without waiting for a response, she strolled out of the tent.

Chrom and Robin looked at each other briefly, before turning back to their own thoughts for a moment. _Adept, sure,_ Robin thought glumly, _but it will take more than some clever tricks and idiot enemy commanders to get us through this war. We'll need a damned miracle._

000

"Carrion Isle?" Robin repeated incredulously a few days later. "Their King expects us to meet him at a place called _Carrion-bloody-Isle_!?"

"A poor venue should things go south," Frederick agreed, rolling up the parchment containing the response from King Validar, "but their King claims that the Plegian Emirs refuse to allow Ylissean royalty into the Palace, given the recent war and the resentment some Plegians still feel over the actions of Exalt Bertrand. I like this about as much as you, tactician, but I fear we have no other choice. I can assure you, however, that should anything threaten milord or the other Shepherds, it will die quickly, but painfully."

"As cautious as ever, Frederick the Wary," Chrom laughed dryly. "But I wouldn't worry. This threat hangs over us all, Plegia can surely see that."

"I sure hope you're right," Robin grumbled warily.

000

They arrived at the gates of Carrion Isle's castle a week later. The island itself was predictably barren, lifeless, and foreboding, and the castle itself was no different. It had been decided that Walter, Robin, Frederick and Chrom would meet with Validar, while the rest of the Shepherds would be on standby in case something went wrong. And they were all expecting something to go wrong. When they were ushered into the castle's entrance hall by one of the guards, it took all of Walter's self control not to draw his mace when he saw who had been left to greet them.

"Welcome to Carrion Isle, milord," the witch Aversa said in a sickly sweet tone, bowing deeply and quite obviously mockingly to him. "Plegia welcomes you."

"Begone, whore," Walter snarled as she stood back up. She turned her gaze to him and frowned. "We are here to speak to your King, not treacherous snakes. Leave, before I decide to finish what we started at Castle Sable."

"My my, milord," Aversa stated, turning back to Chrom, a wicked grin on her face. "Is this how Ylisseans negotiate?"

"No, it isn't," Chrom stated, turning to Walter and glaring at him, who had the grace to look sheepish. "I apologize for my General's poor manners. The scars of war run deep, and the events that happen during it are not easily forgotten or forgiven. But I was hoping that we could move past our nations' troubled past, and work together to face the mutual threat that looms over us."

"Well now, you're as eloquent as your dearly departed sister," Aversa chuckled. Frederick had to seize Walter's shoulder before he drew his mace, and Chrom's face turned stoic, but in a manner that somehow managed to convey precisely how much he loathed her. "Very well, milord, right this way," she said, beckoning them into the castle and shooting a withering glare at Walter over her shoulder.

Chrom leaned over to Walter as they fell in at a respectable distance behind her. "Could you, I don't know, _not_ kill this negotiation before it starts?" He whispered angrily. "I like her about as much as you do, especially right now, but we've got more important things to worry about."

"I apologize, milord," Walter responded ashamedly. "My temper got the better of me. It will not happen again."

Chrom sighed and shook his head as he turned forward again. "I hope not. This negotiation is all that stands between us and Valm. I like begging them for help as much as anyone else, but Basilio was right."

Walter snorted as he remembered the Khan's frank words on the subject, and they entered what was obviously a conference room. It was then Aversa turned and spoke. "Milord will meet us here," she stated politely. "He is currently in a meeting with the new Hierophant of the Grimleal and some other…guests… but his business should be concluded shortly."

"Your King worships the Fell Dragon?" Frederick asked stiffly.

"Yes, as do I," Aversa responded sweetly. "Milord claims that it was his faith in Grima that got him through the death of Gangrel. It was a difficult time, as I'm sure General Mustafa has told you in the many letters he sends to Ylisse, but milord kept order where there might have been chaos. We had meant to arrange an official visit to Ylisstol, but-" she was cut off as the other door to the conference room swung open, and the Plegian King entered.

It took every ounce of Walter's self control not to draw his mace, but Robin apparently did not possess the same level of control, drawing his sword and leveling it at the man immediately. It was the same man from the night of the attempt on Emmeryn's life, Walter would bet his soul on it. But Chrom and Marth had killed him! Chrom had sworn it on his life!

"Welcome to Plegia, sire," the rake thin, dark skinned man said, giving a courteous bow of his head, ignoring Robin's hostility completely. "I am Validar, King-Regnant of Plegia."

Chrom, for his part, was forcibly lowering Robin's sword and whispering to him furiously. Robin, however, only had eyes for the sorcerer, glaring at him with a level of hate hitherto unknown to Walter. Chrom managed to get the blade down, and turned back to Validar sheepishly.

"My apologies for my friend's actions," Chrom stated politely with a smile. "You must bear a resemblance to someone he's met before. In fact, you look somewhat familiar to me as well," Chrom said pointedly, his polite smile fading. "Is it possible that we've met before?"

"Oh, assuredly not, sire," Validar chuckled, the sound dark and grating against Walter's ears. "I would certainly remember any encounter with Ylissean royalty," he added, still chuckling. The sound made Walter want to strangle him. The clear implication behind those words made him want to do far worse. Validar then turned to Robin. "And this must be your tactician, the famous Robin."

"You know me," Robin answered. It wasn't a question.

"The whole world knows of Ylisse's master tactician!" Validar proclaimed exuberantly, but Walter recognized a feint when he saw one. "Your exploits have become legend, and I can see for myself the spark of wisdom in your eye." He actually seemed sincere when he complemented Robin, much to Walter's surprise.

Robin was apparently taken as off guard as Walter was. "Er, thank you," he responded dumbly.

Validar then turned to Walter next, and his grin faded a bit. "And the illustrious Walter Lennart of Ylisse, her newest Grand General," he stated stiffly. "We are still repairing the Border Pass after your little display of spellcraft. Regardless of the inconvenience it caused, I must admit to being impressed. "

"An accident, I assure you," Walter answered honestly. "I meant only to stop our pursuers, not to destroy an entire landmark." He did not add that he was rather grateful he'd hampered the Plegian Army's access to Ylisse for the foreseeable future.

"Such things happen, I suppose," Validar said lightly. "Now that the introductions have been made, let us get to business, shall we?" He gestured to Aversa, and she produced a scroll, before walking over and handing it to Chrom. The others leaned over his shoulder and read after he unfurled it, and all of their eyes widened at once.

"We offer you eight hundred galleons and two hundred transport frigates, and promise to fully fund this campaign" Validar stated, verbally confirming the contents of the paper. "We would offer soldiers, but other than General Mustafa's men, our army remains in shambles from the last war and we cannot leave ourselves utterly defenseless. I take it that this will suffice as a sign of our commitment to the cause?"

"Y-yes, it will," Chrom stated, his mind completely blanked out. He'd come prepared with dozens of arguments just to get a quarter of what they'd just received for absolutely nothing. He was utterly at a loss.

"This is…surprisingly generous of you, milord," Frederick added, his own surprise evident. "We could not ask for more, quite literally. You offer us nearly all of your assets."

"I've no desire to live under the thumb of some brute from across the ocean," Validar explained with a grimace. "We all face this same threat, and we must meet it head on, together. I look forward to building a strong bond between our two nations."

"As do I, King Validar," Chrom said gratefully as he rolled up the scroll and handed it to Frederick. "I do not wish to seem rude, especially after such a display of generosity, but we must return to Ylisstol with all haste. Our envoy to the Hironeiden should be arriving at Hironeiden Castle within a few days, and we have a lot of coordination to make between our nations if they are willing to aid us."

"We have one more introduction to make," Aversa interjected, her tone still sickly sweet. "The Hierophant of the Grimleal Order wishes to meet with you, to give his blessing on this campaign." As if on cue, the door Validar had entered from opened again, and a man strode in wearing robes that were similar to Robin's. Walter raised an eyebrow; this almost certainly confirmed Robin's theory that he was once a Grimleal shaman, and apparently high ranked to boot. The man's hood was obscuring his face, however, and even as he came to a stop next to Validar, his face could not be easily seen.

"Greetings," Robin said diplomatically. "You're the head of the Grimleal church, right? We were just discussing religion earlier." The Hierophant turned their head in Robin's direction, but said nothing in response.

"Uh, did I do something to offend?" Robin asked uneasily as the Hierophant continued to stare at him. "If so, I did not intend to."

"You yet flee from your fate, still not realizing that you can escape it as easily as you can your own shadow," the Hierophant muttered lowly, barely audible. Something in his voice screamed familiarity to Walter. "But you will come to face it, in time."

Robin took an uneasy step back. "Were…you talking to me?" Robin asked with a nervous laugh.

"I would ask you to remove your cowl, stranger," Frederick spoke up sternly. "It is a courtesy expected in the presence of Ylissean royalty."

The figure's gaze snapped to Frederick, and a smirk could be seen on the figure's mouth. Another alarm bell of familiarity rang in Walter's head. "You are a long way from Ylisse, Sir Frederick, but I suppose I can oblige you." He then reached up and removed his hood, utterly shocking all of them.

"What!?" Robin shouted

"Gods!" Chrom exclaimed.

"What manner of sorcery-" Frederick wondered as he tightened the grip on his lance.

"Lord, have mercy," Walter muttered as he took a wary step back, hand going to his mace subconciously.

"My name is Robin," the figure stated, from a face that was nearly a mirror image to the tactician's. "A pleasure to meet you, tactician. Wait, isn't your name Robin as well? What a funny coincidence! Anyway, I just wanted to wish you all luck on this campaign. You're going to need it," he finished with a low, dry laugh.

"Indeed, it is a rather curious coincidence, now that you mention it," Validar spoke up innocently, though his cruel grin at their flabbergasted expressions belied his sincerity. "What are the odds? But, I believe we have held you up long enough. We'll let you be on your way." With that, the trio turned and began heading back toward the door they'd entered from.

"Wait just a minute!" Chrom demanded hotly. Validar and the Hierophant that was somehow Robin but not Robin ignored him, but Aversa stopped and turned.

"What is it, milord?" Aversa asked sweetly.

"Why do your Hierophant and Robin look alike? What is going on here!?" Chrom demanded.

"I'm afraid we have no time for such trivial matters now, milord," Aversa said teasingly, causing Chrom to turn rather red with anger. "We've preparations to make with our navy, and you have a long, hard journey ahead of you. Do stay safe! The Plegian Highlands can be…treacherous at this time of year." Without waiting for a response, she followed her liege and the doppelganger out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"We must leave this place at once," Walter suggested. "Who knows what other foul tricks this castle holds?"

"I agree with the General," Frederick stated instantly.

"Right," Chrom agreed, before turning to the practically catatonic Robin, who was staring blankly at the door they'd left from. "Robin, come on, let's go." It took some more prodding, but eventually Robin allowed himself to be led out of the castle.

000

Robin couldn't sleep when they made camp in a small basin in the Plegian Highlands that night. He'd tried, but his thoughts were swirling around what had happened in that castle. For some reason, seeing Validar had sparked a rage in him he didn't even know he'd had. Hells, he'd almost caused another war! And then that Hierophant…

 _Bugger it,_ he snorted, standing up and throwing his coat back on. _I'm going for a stroll._ As he exited the tent, he stopped by where Dean was resting. The wyvern had seen his distress upon leaving the castle, and had thus become distressed himself. Unlike Robin, however, he was not so distressed that he couldn't sleep. Robin stroked the center of his forehead once, eliciting some rather adorable grumbling from the dozing lizard, before he continued on his walk. He looked around for Minerva to pet her as well, but she was absent; Cherche must have been on patrol this evening.

 _How could that man have my face? My voice? My name?_ Robin wondered as he passed by Vaike on his own patrol, getting a cheery wave that he returned half-heartedly. _Validar was clearly a talented sorcerer, especially if he was somehow the same man slain by Chrom and Marth…perhaps he figured out how to copy me magically, somehow? Did he want his own "brilliant tactician"?_ Thinking about Validar too long, however, caused him to feel that same rage again, so he directed his thoughts towards the upcoming war as he walked ever further from camp. Apparently that topic was a no-go either; now he was getting a headache.

 _Heed me, Robin,_ a voice said. Robin quickly whirled around, reaching for… the sword he'd left in his tent. Cursing his stupidity and swearing never to do something like walking outside of camp without a weapon again, his eyes darted wildly around, looking for the speaker. He still had his magic; he wasn't completely defenseless.

 _Heed my call,_ the voice echoed again. Robin recognized the voice this time, and whirled around to see none other than Validar. As the rage in his mind spiked, he cast a fireball at the man's face. It passed harmlessly through it, however, sailing over the trees and out of sight.

 _Good aim my boy, but you can't harm an astral projection,_ Validar's voice taunted, his mouth not moving. _Why do you waste your time with these doomed servants of Naga?_

"How about you go to whichever of the nine hells suits your fancy?" Robin snarled, before the pain in his head suddenly doubled. He collapsed to his knees, gasping in pain.

 _Such a foul tongue you have,_ Validar said, a sneer coming to his face as Robin fell to his knees in pain. _Your mother's poisonous influence, no doubt. Why would you take such a tone with your own father?_

"M-my father?" Robin ground out past the mounting pain in his mind. "I h-highly doubt that. We don't look anything alike, and I happen to not be a bloody lunatic."

Validar's projection frowned. _Have you truly forgotten?_ Robin then outright screamed as the pain reached a blinding level, and he physically saw his memories being rifled through before his very eyes. _Why is it that the only clear memories are the ones you spent with those insipid servants of yours? I thought your memory was sharper than that,_ Validar spat condescendingly as he continued poring through them at a speed Robin could barely keep up with.

"Get out of my mind!" Robin snarled as Validar stopped to examine his first memory more carefully, the day Chrom had found him in the field while having a nightmare. Like he was focusing magic, Robin concentrated his willpower and pushed back against Validar's influence as the sorcerer examined the dream he'd had with apparent interest. To his surprise, Validar nearly lost control.

 _Hmm, you're certainly better than you used to be,_ Validar sneered as he ratcheted up his own assault on Robin's mind, and the man fell to the ground, writhing in pain and screaming. _That is to be expected, however…You truly do not remember, do you? A pity. Allow me to educate you, my son. You are of my flesh, and of sacred blood. Yours is a fate grander than any of your pathetic friends could ever hope to attain! You are to join your strength with the Fell Dragon!_

"Die in a hole, Validar," Robin spat, even as he struggled to breath. "I would rather spend my life cleaning Vaike's dirty laundry and reading Virion's favorite poetry than do whatever twisted, foul things you want me to do."

"Robin!?" A voice shouted. Vaike's he realized. "Buddy, where are you? I heard you screamin', come on man, talk to me!" Robin then heard wingbeats, and looked up to see a wyvern descending. Cherche and Minerva, he realized.

 _Hmph,_ Validar scoffed. _Your pathetic friends save you now, my boy, but you can't evade me forever. If you seek the answers to your past, you have but to call for me._ With that, Validar's projection disappeared and the pain in Robin's mind receded. He was left exhausted by the ordeal, and simply laid and stared up at the sky as Minerva landed next to him.

"Robin?" Cherche's concerned voice rang in his head. "Are you alright? Vaike!" She shouted, causing Robin to wince. "I've found him, he's over here!" Robin was barely conscious as her face appeared in his line of sight, kneeling over him, and Minerva roared angrily. Cherche, however, was more concerned with Robin at the moment than whatever had angered Minerva. "Gods, Robin, what happened to you?"

"Mental arm-wrestling with my old man," Robin deadpanned weakly as a cloud passed in front of the moon, obscuring the light on Cherche's now befuddled face. _Wait, that's not a cloud._ He pulled Cherche down with his left arm and thrust upward with his right, sending a lightning spell into the air. It collided with the Risen's head that had been preparing to stab Cherche in the back and dispersed it in a cloud of smoke. Robin rose to his feet as the empty armor fell to the ground. Minerva was snarling and writhing, flinging the several Risen that had jumped on her away, before turning in a full circle and unleashing a jet of fire in all directions.

Even as Cherche stumbled to her feet, confused, Robin ripped the horn from her belt and blew three short blasts into it. "Risen!" he shouted toward the distant camp, even as he saw movement in the nearby trees and cast a fireball into them. He was awarded with a rasping scream of pain. "Risen are attacking the camp! To arms, Shepherds, to arms!" The camp immediately burst to life with noise, torches lighting up to reveal dozens of Risen closing in around it in the darkness. _Stealth? Ambush? Since when are Risen that clever?_ Robin thought suspiciously, and with no small amount of fear. The few Risen sightings the Ylissean Army had encountered almost always involved blind charges, maybe occasionally some attempt at a proper formation. Certainly nothing on this level of sophistication. Cherche, to her credit, was already mounting Minerva, pulling her lucerne from its holster on Minerva's saddle and holding her other hand out to Robin.

"Get on!" she ordered, "I'll get you back to Dean!"

Robin nodded and grabbed the offered appendage, and was pulled with surprising ease into the saddle behind Cherche. He was once more reminded she was far stronger than she looked. He had approximately five seconds to be hesitant about hugging himself to her very exposed back before she kicked Minerva into action, and he was forced to grab hold of her anyway. _Wow, whatever perfume she uses smells incredible,_ Robin mused absently as they began soaring back toward camp. Minerva cried out in pain as an arrow flew out from the trees, tearing a hole in her webbing, and Robin sent an area-of-effect fireball in the general direction it had come from. He was rewarded by several cries of pained Risen. Minerva turned back and snarled at the use of magic, but he just gave her a deadpan look.

"Next time, I'll just let the archers shoot you then!" he snapped. Another arrow barely missed Minerva, and she breathed fire into the trees angrily. However, the flames failed to reach it from their height, and yet another arrow was fired, hitting through her other wing. Robin cast another fireball, and this time Minerva didn't complain (too much). Cherche was guiding her in an erratic, jittering path around the dozens of other arrows that were being fired as Robin fired back, but she couldn't evade them all and Robin had trouble aiming with the constant maneuvers and lack of a proper target, and they were being pushed away from the camp. Even as Minerva slowly accumulated wounds, Robin spotted a lone figure on the nearby defunct floodgate. He immediately deduced that it was the sorcerer or commander in charge of these Risen. As he went to order Cherche to fly them there, Minerva roared in pain as a lucky shot found its way into the unarmored section of hide inside of her leg. _We're almost out of range of those archers, but if one more shot like that comes through, Minerva's going to go down. And us with her._ Then an idea occurred to him.

Now, many people had described him as cautious before. Cordelia and Virion both regularly admonished him for overthinking every little thing. Chrom had pointed out sadly once that he'd gotten even more cautious after Emmeryn's death, bordering on almost frantic when accounting for things that could go wrong. But what had just occurred to Robin was pretty much the exact opposite of cautious, and he couldn't quite figure out why he felt such a need to go to those lengths in this situation.

"Get back to the camp!" Robin shouted over the wind as he let go of Cherche's waist. "I think I've spotted their commander!"

"I can't get you there!" Cherche told him as she evaded yet another volley of arrows, looking where he was looking.

"I know!" Robin said worriedly. "I'll go ahead myself; get the others after me as soon as possible!" He then scooted himself backward and swung his leg over the side of the saddle, sitting sideways on it now.

"Robin, what are you doing!?" Cherche shouted incredulously.

"Don't worry, I've seen Walter do this before, and he came out of it just fine!" Robin said with a nervous laugh. He didn't mention that Walter had dislocated his shoulder and nearly been decapitated by the person who'd broken his fall. _Oh gods, now I want to throw up_. Cherche was about to question him further, but he made his intentions clear by acting on them: he threw himself from the saddle, entering freefall toward the trees below.

"Robin!" Cherche cried in fear as Minerva's forward momentum carried her swiftly away from him, depriving her of the chance to turn around and catch him.

Robin, for his part, was blasting wind magic in the general direction of the ground to slow his descent. Regardless, when he entered the treetops, he was quickly spun around and beaten by the dozens of branches that sought to bar his access to the ground. They were found wanting, however, and broke, either by Robin's now-errant spells or his weight. After several seconds of feeling like nine Sullys were beating on him at once, Robin collided with the ground, hard.

"Oh, gods, that was an awful idea," Robin groaned as he clutched his side. Nothing broke, his spells and the branches had slowed his descent enough to keep him from life-threatening injury, but he felt like he'd just been through Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour, except twelve of them in a row, all after a day of sparring with Lon'qu and Chrom. As Robin groaned and dragged himself to his feet, he heard the sound of Risen snarling in the trees nearby. He quickly craned his ears, and heard the sound of clashing steel, the battle at the camp, occurring….to his left. That means to attack the enemy leader he needed to go…that way. To the right. As he decided on his destination, the sounds of his Risen pursuers drew closer. As stealthily as he could, Robin snuck away from his crash site.

As he evaded several unnervingly well-placed ambushes, however, the sound of clashing steel suddenly sounded to his right. _Did Cherche come after me? Or was she shot down?_ Robin thought fearfully. _Did one of the others get stranded out here as well?_ As quickly as he could while still remaining stealthy, he made his way toward the sound of combat. He was surprised, however, when he saw what awaited him.

In the middle of a circle of Risen were three women. One was an alabaster skinned, long black haired woman in a black leather dress that made the back of Cherche's riding outfit look modest. She was dodging deftly through the comparatively slow Risen, slashing at them with a pair of what looked like bone spikes mounted on the wrists of her black leather gloves. The second woman was a lavender skinned, white haired woman in a modest (well, relative to the first woman's anyway; it was still quite revealing) dress, wielding a pair of curved swords. She wielded them to deadly effect, and Robin could see flames wreathing them, tracing ribbons of fire through the air as she slashed and thrusted at her opponents. The third woman was an obsidian-skinned, white haired woman that wore practically nothing but smallclothes made of jewelry, wielding a curious sword that had two large, curved blades with a handle linking them horizontally. She somersaulted and flipped over her opponents gracefully as she cut them down, occasionally sending out a shot of lightning from her left hand. Robin realized with a start that these weren't humans; the skin color, the pointed ears that he saw sticking out from the black-skinned one's head, the magic-infused swords…these were Dark Elves. _Wait, no, two Dark Elves and one Half-Vampire,_ he amended as the white-skinned woman snarled, revealing several pointed teeth. Robin watched in awe as the trio of women made short work of the Risen within a minute, discarded armor and stray wisps of the acrid purple smoke they dissolved into upon death the only sign that they'd been there at all.

"Well, that was easy," the dark-skinned one said casually as she relaxed. "I fail to see why these things are seen as such a threat."

"Do not underestimate your foes, Cirith," the lavender skinned one chastised. "We are experienced warriors; the average soldier-"

"You should be more attentive of your surroundings," a female voice whispered in Robin's ear, before a blade was placed at his throat. Robin realized that it must have been the third woman, the Half-Vampire. _But how did she sneak up on me like that so quickly?_ He thought incredulously. "Move, ape," she snarled, "gently" prodding him forward with her other blade at the base of his spine. With no other option, he obliged, and strode into the clearing. The other two women turned to him with swords raised, but lowered them once they saw the situation he was in.

"A pleasure to see you again," the lavender-skinned woman stated in a tone that very much did not sound pleased to see him. "Have you reconsidered our offer?"

"Uh, ma'am, I don't know what you're on about," Robin said nervously. He squeaked a bit as the blade at his neck pressed harder, perilously close to drawing blood.

"I would not suggest lying to Ilfa," the woman said almost casually.

"Morene," the woman, apparently named 'Ilfa', said. "If he's here to accept our offer, then perhaps we _shouldn't_ kill him."

"No, that isn't him," the other woman, Cirith, stated abruptly. "He's missing that small scar above his eye."

Ilfa squinted at him, before her eyes widened. "Then who are you, if not the Hierophant of the Grimleal?"

 _What? They spoke to the Hierophant?_ "My name is Robin," he stated slowly. "I'm a tactician with-" He was cut off once more as the blade dug even deeper, drawing blood this time.

"I say we kill the ape now and be done with it," Morene spat. "He insists on lying, and I'll not tolerate it. We don't have the time to listen to this fool spit falsehoods to save his life. We need to find the Ylisseans, and these creatures are likely assaulting them as we speak."

"Wait, you're looking for Chrom?" Robin asked, hopeful that maybe he wouldn't get a second hole to breathe through. "I know where they are. He leads the Shepherds, and I'm their tactician. They're camped in the nearby basin. And yes, the Risen are attacking them right now, so if you don't plan on killing me, could you _kindly_ remove your blade from my neck so I can take out their leader? He's standing near the defunct floodgate to the north." While giving away his friends' position wasn't the most tactically advantageous idea, the Risen had attacked these women, so they were definitely on the same side as far as this battle went. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend", or so the saying went.

"Cirith, verify what he just said," Ilfa stated. Cirith nodded, before dashing off into the trees at a speed that seemed impossible. "You said your name was Robin?"

"Yes, and could you _please_ convince your friend to let me go?" he stated calmly. "I'm unarmed, as you can see."

"You're also a mage," Morene said in his ear. "I can smell it in your blood."

Robin shuddered at the sultry, almost ravenous tone that had taken Morene's voice at the end of that sentence, remembering Walter's dossier stating that they drank blood to survive. "You know, I think I know someone you'd get along really well with. A couple years back I got my arse kicked in the Feroxi Coliseum by this creepy, long haired dandy with a weird sword. He was super into blood like you seem to be, his name was Leinhart-ack!"

"I don't know how you know that _traitor_ ," Morene snarled in his ear as she traced a shallow cut along the entirety of his neck, "but if you mention him again, I _will_ kill you."

"Morene, please don't kill him, not just yet," Ilfa asked, sounding only mildly concerned. "Something is awry, here, and if he is truly with the Ylisseans, then killing him will only complicate our situation." Morene huffed, but relaxed her blade by a fraction of an inch. "Now, 'Robin', why are you alone in these woods when your supposed allies are fighting for their lives?"

"We just met with Validar and some weirdo who looks like me and has my name earlier today," Robin answered. "Obviously, coming across a doppelganger of yourself would cause anyone a bit of discomfort, so I was taking a walk to hopefully clear my mind. I was ambushed in the woods by the Risen. A friend of mine found me, and began to take me back to camp on her wyvern to rally the others. The woods were full of archers, though, and I was forced to jump off to avoid getting all of us killed. I spotted the leader while in the air, and was making my way towards his position when I came across you three." He didn't mention the mental sparring session with Validar; that was best kept secret for now.

"His story checks out," Cirith announced as she walked back into the clearing. _How in the nine hells did she cover all of that distance so quickly without being detected!?_. "Even the bit about the wyvern rider; there's one of them rather frantic over his disappearance, and as I watched, she brought a blue-haired swordsmen to the north, where there was a rather large Risen at the floodgate there. The Ylisseans have driven off the walking corpses at their camp, for now. They're sending search parties out this way."

"Well, it appears you weren't lying after all," Morene remarked lightly. "Now, thank Ilfa for her generosity. If it were just Cirith and I, you'd have been dead already."

"Yes, thank you, Ilfa," Robin drawled sarcastically, ignoring the knife still at his neck. "Without you being a reasonable person, your psychotic friends would have murdered me in cold blood. Where would I be without you?" He grinned even as Morene's knife pressed in once more.

Ilfa, however, simply giggled at him. "Humans are always so flippant about death," she said mirthfully. "I do not understand how such a short-lived race can be so casual about it. But you are welcome. Come, we will return you to your people. Morene, release him."

"You're lucky, human," Morene snarled once more, before turning him about and shoving him away from her. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, unprepared for the sudden movement. "Walk. Don't think that simply because my blade isn't at your neck that I can't still kill you."

"You're a real joyous bunch, you know that?" Robin said lightly as he regained his feet, dusting his coat off. He practically yelped, however, as Morene's blade launched past his neck and into the tree in front of him, connected to a curious red chain that Robin immediately discerned as magical in nature.

" _Walk_ , ape," Morene said in a low, dangerous tone as she ripped her chained blade out of the tree, and a sizable amount of wood with it. Robin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, before leading them back towards the camp.

 **AN:**

 **THE PLOT THICKENS**

 **I AM TOTALLY TURNING THE VALMESE ARC INTO A TREMENDOUS CLUSTERFUCK**

 **YOU WILL ENJOY IT**

 **Morene and Cirith are playable characters in Kingdom Under Fire: Heroes and are Lucretia's adjutants in Crusaders. Ilfa is a minor character from Morene's campaign. But what are two Dark Elves and a Half-Vampire doing in the middle of Plegia? Why were they meeting with the Hierophant? You'll find out, I promise you, and it's not just because I already had the Shepherds recruit Henry and there was a prime opportunity for a different recruitment.**

 **I'm pretty sure the thirty foot-long chains Morene uses for her special attacks in KUF are magical in nature, because there is literally fucking nowhere on her body she could hide them. She barely wears enough clothes to qualify for an M rating instead of AO, let alone enough to hide dozens of feet of chain. But hey, Korean devs, amirite?**

 **On that note, I'm pretty sure this whole story is actually blasphemy because it's a cross between Japanese and Korean-made stories, and…well, Korea and Japan don't get along lol.**

 **Also Robin does a dumb and jumps off a wyvern. I mean, fliers are basically taxis half the time in-game, so it makes sense in a dumb sort of way. Plus, I was in an Airborne unit in the Army (though I wasn't Airborne myself, I was a "dirty nasty leg" as non-Airborne personnel are called), and so was my friend, so I like making references to it.**

" **Airborne leads the way!"**

" **Can't jump without legs!"**


	67. Chapter 67

**Chapter 67**

 **Marth No More**

"You!" four voices snarled simultaneously as Robin and his…companions…finally reached the camp.

"Friends of yours? They're a really chummy bunch; you meet the nicest people," Robin said lightly. Three of the voices that had snarled were the women behind him, but the fourth was Walter, who'd been directing the search parties at the edge of camp. He noticed a wyvern flying away in the distance; Cherche had likely gone searching for him again after taking Chrom to kill the Risen leader. _Well, she'll be glad to see I'm alright when she returns,_ he thought glumly. He could already guess she'd be either worried out of her mind or furious.

"Shepherds, ready weapons," Walter said shortly. Those who were present looked hesitant, but raised their weapons anyway.

"You failed to mention that you had this idiot in your company," Morene said behind him, before a chain wrapped itself around Robin's neck and yanked him back into her arms. The chain retracted and the blade once again found itself at his neck. Robin wasn't even afraid anymore, just resigned and a bit annoyed.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this," Robin quipped. Morene's knife dug in, and the Shepherds began fanning out to surround her. "Look, lady, I'm not exactly up to date on Bersian social circles or the attendant gossip. Given Walter's previous statements about your kinds, I figured that any of you he'd met before would be…well, dead."

"As if I would be killed by some muscle bound lout," Morene snarled in disdain. "No, the only time this fool came close to killing me was when the idiot destroyed the Ancient Heart."

"Release Robin, or die, Half-Leech," Walter said in a dangerous tone, his own mace drawn now.

"You'll kill us anyway, backstabber," Cirith retorted. Walter frowned at her, but said nothing. _Backstabber?_ Robin wondered. "We could at least ensure one of you dies in return."

"They'll all die," Morene stated coldly, and the Shepherds around them tensed up. "I won't die here, not at the hands of some witless apes."

"Please, just stop!" Ilfa spoke up desperately. "Captain Walter, if we drop our weapons and release your friend, do you swear not to harm us?" _Captain? But he's…oh, right,_ Robin realized. _He was just a Captain back in the Emissaries._

"You're out of your mind!" Morene exclaimed incredulously. "You know as well as I do that he'll just kill us."

"And how are we to convince their King to support us if we kill his soldiers?" Ilfa shot back. _What do they want from Chrom?_ Robin wondered. "Please, Morene, just release him. Our plans will never come to fruition if we don't offer peace first. There does not need to be bloodshed!"

"If you surrender and lay down your arms," Walter spoke up, sounding curious now, "you have my word that you will not be harmed."

"Ilfa, I've had dealings with him before," Cirith urged. "He can't be trusted." _Walter? Dealing with Dark Elves? That's…unlikely. Other than that Rithrin fellow, anyway, and he's made it clear that he_ really _didn't like doing that._

"Lay down your weapon, Cirith. Morene, release him," Ilfa commanded, before dropping her own weapons in the dirt.

"You're going to get us all killed before this is through," Morene snapped, before shoving Robin forward as she had before. This time, however, he managed to stay on his feet. Most of the Shepherds sheathed their weapons, but Walter simply lowered his slightly, glaring hatefully at the new arrivals.

"Alright!" Robin said cheerily, before anyone else could move. "Now, before we all get to shouting at each other and drawing steel again, how about we all just _not move a muscle,_ not say a word, and I'll find Chrom before there's an accident, yeah?"

"Fine," Walter spat. "We will not move if they won't."

"Nor will we," Ilfa stated shortly, glaring at her apparent subordinates until they each gave a single, reluctant nod.

"Great!" Robin exclaimed, before looking at the Shepherds around him and spotting the two faces he was looking for. "Lissa, Sumia, help me find Chrom before there's some sort of weird, violent cross-race incident here."

000

"I don't even know where to begin," Marth said after she led Chrom down to the nearby stream. They were standing side by side, with her staring into the water. She'd just saved his life yet again from a Risen assassin as he slew their leader. Chrom was starting to lose track of how many times she'd saved their hides, honestly.

"I already know you're not 'Marth'," Chrom supplied, staring at the stream himself. "Though I've nothing better to call you. I will not ask anything of you that you do not wish to reveal, however. Whoever you are, Ylisse owes you a debt beyond repaying, and if you wish to remain anonymous, that is more than acceptable."

"As kind as you always were," Marth laughed softly, somewhat bitterly, before shaking her head. _Do…do I know her from somewhere else?_ Chrom wondered. "But no. I would prefer that you know the truth. Queen Ellen was right…"

"As you wish," Chrom said, curious as to what Ellen had to do with this.

Lucina turned to him then, and he turned to meet her gaze. "Look into my eyes," she said quietly. "And all will be made clear."

Chrom did as she asked. They were rather close in color to her hair, he thought absently. Actually, they were the same color as his eyes, as was her hair to his. A curious coincidence, no doubt. As the moonlight shone across her face, however, he noticed something off about her left eye. Looking closer at her iris, he gasped lightly.

"That's…the Brand of the Exalt," he said aloud, thinking of the same mark that had manifested on his own shoulder as an infant. Only the Exalted Line ever bore that mark, and even then, it did not grace all of them with its appearance. Lissa was one such example, a sore subject to breach with her. He'd been relieved to find it appear in his own daughter's eye-

 _My daughter's eye,_ he realized numbly. His daughter's left eye. The same eye that the blue haired, Falchion wielding woman in front of him bore the Brand in.

"Lucina," he whispered. The woman nodded, almost imperceptibly, her face a stoic mask. Chrom looked down to where her copy of Falchion rested. She was apparently his daughter somehow, but he never let Falchion out of his sight. Ever since Uncle Roark had returned it to him, he'd been practically attached to it. He doubted that would ever change, even when Lucina grew older. His blood ran cold then. If this was his daughter then there was only one way that it would have gotten to her.

"You deserved more from me than one sword and a world full of troubles," Chrom told her dejectedly, realizing what had happened to him wherever this grown-up Lucina came from. "I'm sorry," he added. It didn't feel like it was enough, though. Nothing could repay the fact that he'd failed her, and certainly not some hollow words. Perhaps not he, in this world or whatever was going on, but he felt the shame he knew his counterpart would have…if he had lived.

Lucina's stoic façade finally cracked somewhat, as tears began streaming down her eyes. She sniffed once, then twice, looking down to the ground to try to obscure it. Chrom's heart sank as he watched Lucina, his daughter, trying her best to remain strong even now, even when nobody was present who would judge her. The sight made him a strange mixture of proud and heartbroken. He reached one hand forward and, gently as he could, wiped at one of the tears streaming down her face. Lucina looked up briefly in surprise, before the last vestiges of her stoicism were washed away.

"Father!" she cried, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around him tightly. It all felt a bit surreal to him, but he felt the same thing now that he did whenever his infant daughter cried: the need to comfort her, protect her. He wrapped his arms around his somehow-grown daughter, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder, and his stomach churned in a mix of anger and guilt. _Whatever happened to me, whatever happened to you,_ Chrom thought as he placed a hand on the back of her head soothingly, _I will not let it happen again._

After what felt like an eternity, Lucina's sobbing finally trailed off.

"Better now?" Chrom asked kindly as Lucina stepped back, wiping her eyes.

"Y-yes, I believe so, Father," Lucina said with a shaky voice. "I'm sorry, it all just came rushing back at once, I suppose."

"Father…" Chrom repeated bemusedly.

"Do you wish for me to call you something else?" Lucina said worriedly.

"No, it's just…strange to my ear," Chrom explained with a smile. "I like it."

"'Father'…" Lucina repeated, giving a nervous laugh.

Chrom returned the laugh. "Yeah, it'll take some getting used to," he said with a grin. He definitely liked it, though.

Their moment was ruined however, by Robin clearing his throat. They both turned to see him standing with Sumia, who was looking quite nervous, and Lissa, whose arms were crossed as she glared death at Lucina. _Where'd that cut on Robin's neck come from?_ Chrom wondered worriedly.

"Alright," Robin said impatiently, eyeing Lucina suspiciously, "I've got a situation brewing back at camp, so let's keep this short. Your _wife_ ," he said, pointing to Sumia for emphasis, "your sister, and I all try to track you down after the battle for some really important business that just came up, only to find you standing beneath the moonlight by a rather scenic vista, embracing a woman, with her crying. Now, I'll admit it looks bad to the casual observer, but your wife has graciously suggested that you are not, in fact, Virion's best student and that something else may be going on here. Lissa and I are more doubtful. So, before I go fetch Dean and treat him to what one of the Exalted Line tastes like for breaking one of my best friends' hearts, would you mind explaining to us what _exactly_ is going on here!?" Robin finished with a shout, causing the four others to wince.

Chrom and Lucina looked at each other sheepishly. "I believe it would be a good idea, particularly for my long term health, if we told them what was going on, Lucina," he said with a nervous laugh. He didn't doubt Robin would actually feed him to Dean if he had an extramarital affair; Sumia and Robin got along like a house on fire. For a short while he'd actually been worried she'd fall for _him_ instead.

"Lucina?" the three of them asked, looking to each other and then to Lucina in confusion. Then, Robin's face turned angry. "Are you telling me you named your _daughter_ after a bloody _concubine!?_ "

"No!" Lucina interjected, putting her hands up pleadingly. "That is the exact opposite of what's going on!"

"Sumia, this is going to sound a little far-fetched," Chrom stated nervously, "but this is our daughter. Lucina."

The others were stunned into silence for several seconds. Then Robin simply plopped down onto his arse.

"I'm too tired for his," he said hoarsely, putting his head in his hands. "Somebody fetch me an ale."

Sumia, however, was now looking at the pair of them incredulously. "Do you really expect me to believe this is our _daughter_?" She asked sardonically. "I only gave birth to her two years ago, there is no possible way that she's here, now, fully grown!"

"Blue hair and eyes that are a trademark of Anri's line, knows Chrom's fighting style perfectly and claims her father taught it to her, carries the sword that he never lets out of his sight, and has a bearing that practically screams high birth," Robin rattled off numbly from behind his hands to counter Sumia. "I don't even know why I'm so shocked. It's been pretty much obvious from the start; I don't know why none of us thought of it. Probably because it sounds like some ham-fisted plot device in one of your favorite corny novels. Where in the nine hells is my ale?" he lamented

"It's true, Moth…Sumia," Lucina said, approaching the woman carefully.

"She has the Brand in her left eye," Chrom pointed out. Sumia looked at him skeptically and approached Lucina, staring carefully at her eye. Once she saw the brand, her mouth formed a perfect "o". "Do you see now?" Chrom stated.

"No, Chrom, I do _not_ see!" Sumia said suddenly, stepping back from Lucina, a wild look in her eyes. "This doesn't make any sense...wait. Where is Lucina? My Lucina, my baby girl? _What have you done with her!?_ " Sumia practically screeched, grabbing Lucina by the arms and shaking her violently.

"Whoa, peace, Sumia!" Chrom said nervously, gently prying his panicking wife off a now-rattled Lucina. "She hasn't done anything to her!"

"Father is correct," Lucina said nervously, shakily adjusting her sleeves where Sumia had grabbed her. "Your baby is safe, right where you left her. I am her from…another time. A time that has yet to be."

"You're…you're from the future?" Sumia asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes, more than ten years hence," Lucina responded grimly. "After history takes a dark and most destructive turn…"

"Alright, your secret's out," Robin groaned, moving his hands from his face. "You're from the future, you know things that aren't comfortable to hear, we get it. Cut the cryptic crap, what happens in the future?"

"The Fell Dragon Grima is resurrected," Lucina said bluntly while shooting Robin a withering glare, shocking the others into silence. "His roar is a death knell for all mankind, a scream that silences all hope…there is death everywhere, the very earth itself falling to ruin."

"Looks like your father didn't kill enough Plegians to stop that," Robin muttered bitterly to Chrom, who shot him a withering glare just like Lucina's.

"Oh, hey, you both glare the same too," Robin supplied unhelpfully. Lissa had to stifle a giggle.

"And…what becomes of us?" Chrom asked Lucina hesitantly.

"You…you are all slain," Lucina said, clenching her fists tightly.

"Our entire company?" Robin asked. Lucina nodded stiffly. "All of us!? Dead!?" Lucina nodded again, biting her bottom lip and looking towards the ground. "Gods, that sucks," Robin groaned, flopping down onto his back.

"Eloquent," Lissa deadpanned, and Lucina giggled a bit, though she still looked rather bothered by the memories she was undoubtedly reliving.

"A tale that beggars belief," Chrom mused, "but the truth of it stands before us. She carries my sword, the only one of its kind. The same sword the First Exalt used to defeat Grima."

"Wait, how are you here?" Robin wondered aloud. "Exalt Bertrand's diary says you died helping him escape the future, it's obvious now that he was talking about you. Does this mean there are multiple timelines?"

"Our blades are one, Father," Lucina said, ignoring the nonsense about meeting her grandfather and Robin's…eccentricity. She definitely didn't remember _that_ from the future. "It…it was all I had left of you…"

"There is only one Falchion," Chrom agreed. "I believe you."

"Heck so do I!" Lissa spoke up. "We saw you fall out of the sky!"

"Thank you, Aunt Lissa," Lucina said gratefully. "Naga, the divine dragon, feared mankind would face Grima again. In preparation for that day, she devised a ritual. It allows one to return to the past and alter events already written. I made the journey together with others, but...we became separated."

"Oh gods, there are more of you?" Robin groaned. "I've already got a headache from this…"

"If they're out there, we'll find them!" Lissa said enthusiastically.

"Thank you again, Aunt Lissa," Lucina said with a grateful bow.

"How old are you?" Lissa asked her.

"Um, twenty one," Lucina stated, nonplussed.

"Right, well, I'm only seventeen," Lissa stated, "so enough of this 'Aunt Lissa' stuff. I'm not old enough for that yet."

Lucina giggled at that. "As you say, Lissa." She then turned to her father. "Might I have a moment alone with Moth…with Sumia?" she asked nervously.

"Take all the time you need," Chrom said with a smile, before reaching down and hauling Robin to his feet. "Up and at 'em, tactician."

"But I'm tiiiirreeed," he whined as he begrudgingly got to his feet and was led away from the now quietly conversing women. "Lucina broke my braaiiin."

"I'm in the same boat, you don't see me collapsing to the ground," Chrom said with a grin as Robin trudged along just behind them. "It's not even your daughter that came back in time, so 'knuckle up, buttercup' as you so love to tell me."

"You didn't fall through a bunch of trees and get jerked around by some crazy blood-drinking wench," Robin countered with a grin, before it faltered immediately. "Oh gods," he moaned, "I knew I forgot something in all of this time traveling, doomsday business. We've got a…development back at camp."

000

Chrom and Robin arrived back at the entrance to the camp. Thankfully, nobody had moved, and nobody had died. However, Walter and the three new arrivals were engaged in such a tense staring contest that Robin was surprised there weren't actual flames flying between them.

"You…wished to speak with me?" Chrom stated once he'd pushed through the circle of Shepherds that had surrounded the group.

Ilfa turned to him, a look of relief flitting across her face briefly. Cirith and Morene, however, continued to glare at Walter, and he them. "Yes, King Chrom," Ilfa stated formally. "I am Queen Ilfa, sovereign of the Dark Elves…or what remains of them," she added, almost too quietly to hear.

"By King Gerald's account, the Dark Elves were stuck in the ruins of Vellond, being slowly exterminated by Regnier," Chrom said. "What brings you to Ylisse?"

"For thirty years, Regnier has hunted our kind," Ilfa said bitterly. "He is a brutal, cunning man, and it becomes ever more difficult to evade his raiding parties, even as our population dwindles. When we heard about the gate to another world in Nowart, we began sending our women and children through in small groups, with help from…sympathetic parties. Our soldiers were the last to leave. It has taken nearly two years, but we have successfully emigrated our race to Ylisse."

"They're all here?" Walter spoke up warily.

"Yes," Ilfa stated sadly, "though only a few thousand of us remain. We made our homes here, in these highlands, but were discovered by a man named 'General Mustafa' while he was patrolling with his men. The Plegian King, on advice of the Grimleal Hierophant has…he has ordered us to leave."

"As well he should," Walter spat. "Your kind is violent and treacherous, spreading naught but death and ruin wherever you roam. If you have not partaken in banditry yet, it is only a matter of time." Cirith openly laughed at this as Ilfa winced in shame, at Walter specifically, and Walter turned to her to undoubtedly say something rude. Chrom stepped forward to break their line of sight with each other, holding his hands out to calm them down. The two each backed down, but did not look happy about it.

"I seek you out to make an offer, King Chrom," Ilfa stated once it was clear that Walter and Cirith were both not going to try to kill each other. "We have heard of the invaders from across the sea, these 'Valmese'. We offer what aid we can, with so few people as we have, in exchange for asylum in your lands."

"Absolutely not!" Walter snapped. "Your Majesty, please," he said, turning to Chrom desperately. "Do not agree to this. To trust a Dark Elf is to ask for a knife in the back."

"The same could be said of you, backstabber," Cirith sniped. "Rithrin trusted you, yet you so eagerly accepted my assistance in betraying him." Everyone fell silent at that, and Walter turned his gaze to the ground, fists clenched tightly.

"General?" Chrom questioned slowly. "What is she talking about?"

"Do you remember me mentioning that I found the Ancient Heart with the assistance of a Dark Elf named Rithrin?" Walter asked quietly, looking up at Chrom with a haunted expression in his eyes. "Things were more…complicated than that."

 **AN:**

 **The scene between Chrom and Lucina is fucking heart wrenching, and I'm pretty sure I mangled it by trying to put it into words. Hopefully I did it half the justice it deserves. I crie evrytiem.**

 **I never really liked how Chrom's wife immediately gets super fucking jealous. I mean, Chrom's a big ol' sweetheart, do they really have so little faith that he'd remain faithful? No, it makes more sense that someone else, like Robin and/or Lissa, would read into it the wrong way.**

 **Also, how do our three new guests know Walter? Well, Morene tries to kill Walter in her own campaign, and Ilfa's present for that, but how does Cirith know him? FLASHBACK TIME NEXT CHAPTER YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHH**


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter 68**

 **The Altar of Destruction**

 **Three weeks prior to the destruction of the Ancient Heart**

 **Near the Altar of Destruction**

"I know we can't help it," Justino grumbled as he impatiently tapped the haft of his lance against the sand beneath him, "but why the Dark Legion?"

"Are you afraid of them?" Walter asked, not unkindly, as they watched the battle occurring in the canyons below them. The Dark Legion had dispatched some of its higher-tier troops here, and the clearly inadequately prepared Hironeiden forces that had been sent to hold the position were being slowly pushed back.

"Of course not," Justino scoffed, adjusting the grip on his lance. "But I can feel my soul being polluted any time I'm near them."

"Not even the wretched King of Vellond can corrupt your soul, Justino," Walter said confidently, clapping his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I suppose," Justino said dubiously, before his eyes narrowed. "Where's the Dark Elf? I thought this was the rendezvous point."

Walter sighed in frustration. Rithrin had been supposed to meet them here an hour ago. "He must be being delayed by the Hironeidens," he concluded. Despite the Hironeidens' slow retreat, they were fighting valiantly down there. The Dark Elves were fighting for every inch of ground they gained. Walter frowned as the Hironeiden forces managed to establish a defensive line on top of the hill and hold there; it would take even longer for the Dark Elves to push them back again. "We've wasted enough time," he concluded as catapult fire began colliding with the Dark Elf ranks. "Let's go find him ourselves." He turned to his soldiers and pointed forward. The archers and paladins following him dutifully obliged, standing up where they'd been allowed to sit down and sliding neatly into formation. Once everyone was ready, they began jogging down the hill.

"Oh, thank the Lord!" a Hironeiden officer declared as he heard the footsteps behind his formation and turned to see the source. "I'm Johannes," he greeted quickly as he removed his helmet, revealing messy black hair and a young face. _Too young,_ Walter thought. _I hope Thomas is alright.._. "Commander of the Eastern Assault Force, Hironeiden Army. Have you brought reinforcements from Ecclesia?" he asked hopefully, his young face lighting up.

"I'm sorry," Walter said sorrowfully. "I'm on a special mission from His Holiness himself."

The man's jaw dropped in disbelief. "What mission could be more important than preventing the slaughter of your allies!?" Johannes asked incredulously. The archers in front of him stopped firing briefly, turning to look at Walter and his men in shock and disappointment. As Walter went to answer, however, the officer scoffed. "No, I suppose you wouldn't tell me," he said scornfully, replacing his helmet and turning away from them. "Sorry to waste your time."

"Lance," Walter said immediately to his adjutant. "Justino and I are going on ahead alone. Remain here with the soldiers and provide support."

"Are you certain, Captain?" the young mage asked.

"It will be easier to bypass the battle with just two people, as opposed to forty," Walter reasoned. _And good men will die if we don't help,_ he added mentally. "When we return, we will move on."

Lance, however, apparently read his mind, and smiled. "Right away sir. Paladins, cast Curatio! Archers, move up and prepare to fire!" he barked, and Walter's troops gladly moved to assist.

"You know this won't help, Walter," Justino muttered as Johannes shot them a grateful glance from beneath his helmet. "Once we pull our soldiers away, this line is going to crumble even faster once they've become dependent on them."

"We're giving them a chance to receive reinforcements from Hironeiden," Walter countered, though he wasn't hopeful himself. "and if the Dark Legion controls these canyons, escape will be difficult."

"If you say so," Justino said dubiously. "Well, let's going then." Walter nodded, and the pair took off. They slowly scaled the nearby canyon wall, a task made difficult in full armor. Walter glanced back briefly at the battle. His superbly skilled soldiers were enough to turn the tide; the Hironeiden line was stabilizing now. Justino's dire predictions echoed in his mind, however, and he turned back to the task at hand.

"There they are," Justino muttered as Walter crested the cliff. Walter looked to where he was pointing, and saw a pair of Dark Elves standing there, down the opposite side of the sheer cliff they had climbed, holding the altered Dark Legion flag as they'd said they would be. They appeared to be observing the battle from a distance, waiting for an opening to sneak by. Walter whistled and the two looked up. They appeared to converse briefly, before they scaled the canyon themselves.

"Oh, Captain Walter!" Rithrin greeted in an acidic tone as he stood up straight, dusting off his battle coat. "Glorious leader of the Heavenly armies of His Holiness, who is the only agent of Heaven!" he stated dramatically, casting his arms wide in a mocking gesture. Walter's brow furrowed in anger as Rithrin's companion crested the canyon wall as well, a whore dressed solely in jewelry. "It is truly an honor to meet you! May the Lord bless this land! May His Grace guide you on your journey!" Rithin said, bowing with a flourish.

Walter had had enough. He surged forward and grabbed Rithrin by his collar, forcing him back toward the edge of the cliff. Once his heels were dangling over the edge, Walter leaned forward into his face. "Save the sarcasm and hold your tongue, heathen," Walter snarled in his face. "Just give us the location of the Ancient Heart."

"Hey! Let him go!" The woman whined impotently, her tone sounding so vapid and stupid that Walter was tempted to kill her on the spot. It would be a favor to the Dark Elves by removing such stupidity from their breeding stock, sure, but he supposed he could be generous just this once.

"I was merely trying to speak like you humans," Rithrin said politely. Walter scoffed and pulled them both back, before roughly dropping Rithrin and wiping his hands on his armor in disgust. "I must need more practice. Such a disappointment; I did so want to make a good impression" Rithrin mused as he picked himself up. Then his face turned rather angry himself. "Now, Captain Walter," he snapped. "Save your orders. I am not your underling."

Walter opened his mouth to snap back at Rithrin, but Justino interrupted him with a gentle elbow. "They deployed Scorpions," Justino whispered worriedly, "and an Orc heavy infantry unit managed to break through their ranks and disable the catapults. The Hironeiden line will collapse soon, whether Lance is with them or not. We need to get a move on."

Walter turned to see that Justino spoke the truth; the Scorpions were tearing through the lines now. _We can't afford this distraction,_ he concluded, and swallowed his pride as he turned back. "Very well," he told Rithrin. "How about we just get going?" he suggested, pointing down to the rapidly deteriorating battle. "To the Ancient Heart, partner?" He donned a smile that he hoped didn't convey his disgust.

"Hmm, much better," Rithrin said smugly. "'Partner'. I will guide you to where the Ancient Heart lies."

"Put these on," Justino stated, tossing them a pair of Ecclesian soldier uniforms. "We'll have to pass by the Hironeiden ranks to rendezvous with our men."

"Ick," Rithrin said succinctly as he contemplated it. "I can already tell the heat will be insufferable."

"Rithrin, I don't want to dress like the humans," the woman whined again. Again, her vapid tone made Walter want to strangle her.

"It is unfortunate, but necessary, Cirith," Rithrin said, stroking her cheek gently as he handed her the other uniforms. "As much of a firebrand as you are, I doubt even you could fight through all of the humans alone." Cirith whined a bit, but sighed and began pulling on the uniform. Once they were both dressed, Walter nodded. "Let's go," he stated. With that, they began scaling down cliff again.

They followed the same route they had, though it was in Dark Legion hands now, and they were forced to duck behind rocks and sparse trees several times as the enemy moved past. They managed to reach the lines of battle safely, however, and Walter frowned as he noticed how many the Scorpions had managed to kill before they were stopped.

"Lance!" Walter shouted as they circled around the back of the Hironeiden lines. Johannes was nowhere to be found. Walter was forced to assume the worst.

"Here, Captain!" Lance shouted in return as he pushed his way back out of the battle. Walter frowned as he noticed the man bleeding heavily from his left arm, barely managing to hold onto his staff. "We cannot hold here much longer, sir."

"We've found our…guides," Walter stated, gesturing to the disguised Dark Elves. "We're leaving."

"Sir…" Lance muttered. "The Hironeiden reinforcements to the north, they're being flanked. Reports say a Swamp Mammoth has been deployed, and these were the only catapults in the area. They have no mages. If we leave now, these lines are going to collapse. These men…they'll die."

"And we will all die if we don't get to our objective," Walter reminded him somberly. "I wish we could stay and fight, but…we just can't."

Lance sighed, before nodding once. "Very well, Captain," he stated, his voice unhappy. He whistled twice, and Walter saw his paladins and archers begin pulling out.

"Whoever you are, don't leave!" one of the few remaining Hironeiden infantrymen pleaded as he noticed their reinforcements beginning to pull out. The Dark Legion troops took notice of the withdrawal, and eagerly surged forward. "Please, we cannot hold here!"

Walter bowed his head as he turned away. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly as he ordered his troops to follow where Rithrin and Cirith had already begun walking away. It wasn't long before the sounds of battle behind Walter ceased entirely, the last sounds being the throaty cries of Orcs as they reveled in their victory.

"You did what you could, human," Rithrin said quietly as Walter marched along their route. It was a twisting, convoluted route through the network of canyons surrounding the Altar of Destruction, and Walter had become quickly disoriented, despite priding himself on his sense of direction. _There is some foul magic at work here_ , he concluded.

"The last thing I want is your pity, Rithrin," Walter said shortly. "Just guide us, quickly, so their sacrifice was not in vain."

"Very well," Rithrin sighed. "Wait here. The entrance is nearby; what you've been seeking is right within reach. I will confirm that there are no Orcs guarding it, and then we will enter the Altar." Quick as the wind, Rithrin dashed around the next bend.

"You, human," Rithrin's consort, that Cirith woman, said shortly as Rithrin dropped out of even her impressive earshot. "Be straight with me: do you plan on killing us once that idiot leads you to whatever you're looking for?"

Walter raised an eyebrow at her as she lounged against the rock she'd decided to rest on. Her vapid, stupid tone had disappeared entirely, and the dopey expression she'd worn had been wiped clean. She looked at him now like a cat would a mouse; calculating, cold, and cruel. "It would be foolish of me to tell you if I planned to betray you," Walter pointed out.

"I'll take that as a yes," Cirith concluded. "Look, if you want Rithrin dead, that's fine by me. I'm supposed to kill him anyway." _Do Dark Elves really view betrayal so casually?_ Walter wondered. "Rithrin suspects betrayal, as any sane man would in his situation, and many of your men will die attempting to kill him; he may look like a bit of a dandy, but he's deadly with a blade. So how about I kill Rithrin for you, and you don't kill me? We all walk away from this alive and intact. Except Rithrin, of course, but he's been a dead man walking for months. He's not nearly as subtle as he thinks; King Valdemar's had him in his sights for a while now."

"And why should I trust you?" Walter asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're openly offering to stab your commander, your apparent consort, in the back to save your own hide. Why should I trust a traitor?"

"I could ask that same question," Cirith shot back. "Your Patriarch wants my kind dead, yet here you are, one of his Emissaries, cooperating with us. I don't like the smell of this, but I know an opportunity when I see one. Lucretia is undoubtedly following after us. If she finds me over the dead body of her precious lover, then I'm as good as dead if she catches hold of me. But if she finds you Ecclesians…"

"Your self preservation instinct is almost impressive in its all-encompassing nature," Justino deadpanned as he walked up, having overheard the conversation. "I suggest we listen, Walter."

"You're not seriously considering trusting her?" Walter replied in disbelief.

"Trust her? No," Justino said. "She cares more about surviving this than anything else. She sees murdering Rithrin as her best way out, and the Patriarch wants him disposed of. Rithrin will undoubtedly be watching us for signs of betrayal, but he trusts her. We're already cooperating with Dark Elves, so what's one more deal? I say we let the trash take itself out."

"I'm standing right here, you know," Cirith pointed out dryly.

Walter stopped and considered it for a moment, before sighing and nodding. "Alright, Cirith," he said begrudgingly. "You have a deal. But if you attempt to double cross me…"

"Wouldn't it be a triple cross at that point?" Cirith said with a sardonic laugh. "But you have no need to worry about me. I'm quite good at killing your kind, but even I don't think I can fight my way past nearly forty men in an enclosed space. I'm not stupid." She cocked her head. "Rithrin's returning. Act natural." As if her personality shift had never happened, the same clueless expression resurfaced on her face.

"The way is clear," Rithrin announced as he returned to the group.

"Rithrin!" Cirith whined, her vapid tone returning, standing up and hurrying to him, "these humans were so cruel to me while you were gone! Saying rude, suggestive things, staring at my body…I don't like them!" Walter nearly choked on his own breath at Cirith's antics. Justino looked torn between amusement at Walter's reaction and his own disgust.

"Well, I certainly can't blame them for looking," Rithrin assured her with a chuckle, planting a kiss on her cheek. "But you have nothing to fear with me around. Look at the bright side, my dear! If these humans can appreciate your beauty, then perhaps my dream of a peace between all races can come true! This almost makes you an ambassador for our people, in a way!"

Cirith made a show of thinking about it, putting a finger on her lip. "You're right!" She cheered enthusiastically. "I still don't like it, though…"

"Don't worry, my dear," Rithrin said soothingly, "the only one who'll be touching you is me," he said suggestively, running his hands down her sides. Walter felt like vomiting.

"Can we move on?" Justino suggested, clearly as disgusted as Walter.

"Yes, yes," Rithrin sighed. "Right this way." As Cirith fell in beside Rithrin, him putting his arm around her, and the Emissaries fell in behind, Cirith turned back to Walter briefly. She pantomimed vomiting, and quickly turned forward. Walter and Justino both snorted in amusement.

Rithrin led them into a nondescript crack in the canyon wall. Walter would have dismissed it had he passed by it, honestly. The desert sun outside of the hidden entrance was block by the giant, twisted, thorn-like spires that sprouted from the earth around the Altar of Destruction. They were the aftereffect of whatever had ceased the war fifty years ago; few who lived remembered what actually happened, and none were willing to talk about it. Rithrin guided them through the narrow, earthen tunnel for several minutes, before it emerged into a great hall of some kind. Though Walter did not recognize the architecture, two rows of intricately carved columns ran from left to right across his vision, and the walls were covered with engraved murals, detailing some ancient battles, and the images of dragons were frequent. To their left was the official door of the Altar, and to Walter's right was the Altar itself. It was relatively simple in comparison to the rest of the chamber; a simple stone Altar with no decoration on a raised dais, and sealed stone archway set into the stone behind it. Likely an old entrance that had been sealed, Walter concluded. As their company stepped into the proper walkway, however, the air around them began stirring.

"Rithrin," Walter said warningly, "What is going on?"

"I…I don't know," Rithrin muttered nervously as his head swiveled around. "I just poked my head into the chamber to see if anyone was here, I didn't actually enter."

"Walter, we've got company," Justino said gravely, pointing to the Altar. Walter's brow furrowed as he saw what Justino was pointing two.

Four sets of armor stood between his Emissaries and the Altar now; where they had come from, Walter did not know. These armor sets had no legs, however; they floated above the ground as if they were possessed, a greatsword clutched in each hand. Before his eyes, flames erupted within the disembodied armor, filling out the armor entirely.

"Flame Wraiths," Rithrin gasped, both in awe and in fear. "The servants of Igne, the Father of Fire, arbiters of his will…" _Nature worshipping savages,_ Walter thought dismissively.

"These must be the guardians of the Ancient Heart," Justino said gravely as the four wraiths brandished their swords in tandem, a clear warning to the intruders.

"Destroy them," Walter ordered shortly, before firing a lightning spell at them. It lanced between them all, but did no visible damage. It did, however, convince the wraiths that they were hostile, and they began gliding forward at frightening speed. "Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter cried as he met their charge. His paladins were shortly behind him, shouting "For the glory of Ecclesia!" and "For the Patriarch!" His archers began spreading out around them, trying to get a clear shot. The Flame Wraiths dispersed, spreading themselves along the front of Walter's lines. Then, the two sides collided, and battle began.

Walter ducked beneath the first blow of his opponent, flames trailing in its wake; the creature swung its greatsword as if it was made of wood, so fast and so powerful that Walter was certain it would have cleaved him in two, armor or not. One of his paladins stepped forward to take advantage of its diverted attention, but as if sensing him, the wraith continued its spin, picking up speed, and just before the paladin's mace connected the wraith's sword hit. Walter grimaced as it did indeed slice through the armor as if it were paper, flames exploding from it as it made contact. The paladin's body was thrown twenty feet away. If he survived, he did not show it; he laid still on the stone floor. An arrow skittered off of the wraith's chest and it whirled around, swinging its sword; a wave of pure flame erupted from it, blowing across the chamber with ludicrous speed, and the archer barely avoided it, despite standing almost thirty feet away.

Walter swung his mace at the thing as it recovered from its swing, with such power that it dented the armor. This only seemed to irritate the wraith, however, and it jammed its elbow into Walter's chest with enough force to drive the air from him. He heard the sound of armor crunching as his breastplate was deformed beneath the lion's head, and he collapsed to the ground, winded. The wraith hovered over him, before raising a sword.

Justino leapt to Walter's rescue, jabbing his lance into the area where the thing's face would have been. The flames occupying the space, however, simply raced down the haft of Justino's lance, even as he withdrew it, and scorched him enough to drop it.

"Melee attacks aren't working, Walter!" Justino shouted, pained, as he barely avoided the thing's spinning counter strike. Walter nodded, channeling his mana into the earth. Vines erupted seconds later, but withered and died from the sheer heat the thing was radiating long before they could pierce its armor or release its corrosive gas.

 _Earth magic won't work,_ Walter thought desperately as he rolled to the side, the Flame Wraith's ire focused on him once again. He saw Cirith nimbly cartwheel to avoid another wraith's strike, and her subsequent lightning spell dissipated harmlessly against its chest. _Lightning doesn't work._ Justino grabbed its attention again by hurling his recovered lance at it, but it predictably skidded off, merely angering the creature. _Fire certainly won't work. They're neither alive nor undead, so holy magic will do nothing at all. That leaves…ice._ Walter was dubious; magical ice was cold, cold enough to cause instant frostbite, but these things generated so much _heat_ … As Justino was knocked to the ground by a backhanded strike from the wraith's arm and it raised its swords to deliver the final strike, he decided he had no recourse but to try. Channeling as much magic as he could, he quickly ran through the incantation and thrust his mace into the air.

"Blizzard!" he shouted. Within half a second, the temperature in the room began dropping rapidly, and Walter's teeth began chattering against his will. The wraiths stopped their assaults, feeling the sudden shift in temperature. The air within the chamber began swirling around, and crystals of ice began materializing in the air. The wraiths let loose ethereal, enraged howls as the temperature continued to drop and the blizzard fully materialized. They soon abandoned their pursuit of his men, writhing in pain and flaring their flames in an attempt to stave off the biting cold. Seeing how effective it was, Walter's paladins began casting smaller ice spikes and summoning ice pillars beneath their foes. The Flame Wraiths' armor cracked and warped as the temperature reached lethally low levels, and the paladins' attacks broke off large chunks completely as they hit. The four wraiths let out one final, ear-piercing howl as their flames were utterly snuffed by the blizzard; their destroyed, warped armor fell to the now snow-covered floor of the chamber as the blizzard finally ran its course.

"Quick thinking, Captain Walter," Rithrin said tiredly as he collapsed to his rear in the layer of snow that now coated the stone, sword still in hand. "I am not sure if we could have bested them in fair combat…"

"I do not get paid enough for this," Cirith whined from her own spot leaning against a pillar and heaving for breath. Walter wasn't sure if that was a genuine complaint or another act.

"Now that that's taken care of," Walter said, regaining his feet and brushing some frost off of his armor, "it's time to claim what we came here for."

"Indeed it is, partner," Rithrin said warmly. "We have worked quite hard to reach this point. Together."

"Together," Walter muttered in agreement as he stepped up to the Altar and beheld their prize. It was an overlarge, oblong red gem, perhaps the size of his fist. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed it. He cried out in pain as a spike of agony shot through his skull, but his hand would not release the Heart.

 _Milord?_ A refined, cold voice echoed in his head. _What is wrong?_

 _Those fools!_ Another voice echoed. This one was all malice and rage. _All troops, fall back to the Altar! Now! The Ecclesians are after the Ancient Heart!_

Walter gasped and finally dropped the crystal, and it clattered loudly against the floor.

"Walter!" Justino shouted in worry, rushing to his side as Walter leaned against the Altar, clutching his head. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Walter quickly realized what he'd just heard. "Regnier knows we're here," Walter said worriedly. He reached down and seized the Heart once more, hastily shoving it in his belt pouch before it could seize his mind again. "We need to leave, now."

"I know another route out of this place," Rithrin offered worriedly. "I can have us escape undetected."

Walter shook his head as he noticed Cirith begin circling around behind him. If they were going to do this, the time was now. Rithrin was cautious, he gave him that; he had placed himself so all of Walter's soldiers were in his field of sight. "No, Rithrin," Walter said sternly. "You have done enough."

"I do not like your tone, partner," Rithrin said lowly, dangerously, as Walter's troops picked up on the mood and turned to face Rithrin from where they'd been resting after the battle. "We have cooperated well. Our races need not war with one another any longer. Do not do this."

"You have done well," Walter complemented sincerely, even as he mentally scoffed at the idea of peace with the Dark Legion. "But your work is done…as are you."

Rithrin's eyes narrowed. "You despicable son of a bitch!" he snarled as he drew his rapier with a flourish. Before he could move to defend himself from Walter's approaching soldiers, however, a pair of metal points burst from his chest. The points of Cirith's sword.

"I never liked you," Cirith said in his ear as she forced the sword in further, causing Rithrin to let out a strangled gasp as his lungs filled with blood.

"Your kind are beyond the Lord's grace, tainted by the Devil's touch. But you should be thankful for the Lord's mercy, Rithrin," Walter said coldly as Cirith tore her sword from Rithrin's back, and he fell to the floor, coughing painfully. "He grants you a quick death." Rithrin shot him one last hateful glare, before the life left his eyes.

"We should kill her too, Walter," Justino suggested, leveling his lance at Cirith. Cirith cursed in her own language and looked about warily for an escape route, but found none; Walter's soldiers had fully encircled her as she'd stabbed Rithrin. "She'll tell the Dark Legion what happened here. They'll be on us like hounds before we even rendezvous with the other Emissaries."

Cirith glared at Walter defiantly, though there was clearly fear there as well. If they attacked, she was dead, and they both knew it. Walter himself was surprised by his next words.

"No, Justino. Let her go."

"Are…are you serious, Walter?" Justino asked in shock.

"I am a man of my word," Walter said evenly, still looking at Cirith. "Begone from this place, heathen. Say not a word of what happened here. Should we cross paths again, it will not be this pleasant."

Cirith gazed around warily one last time, before nodding. She slowly made her way toward the hidden exit, holding her sword warily as she passed between two of Walter's paladins. They said nothing, and their faces were hidden by their helms, but Walter knew they didn't like this. Once she was free of them, Cirith bolted away with the unnatural speed her kind was famous for, without looking back once.

"She'll most likely be slain in the battle outside," Walter said dismissively as Justino turned to him incredulously. "The other Emissaries encircle the Altar even now, and beyond that the Second Division under General Kendal is attacking the Dark Legion. If she survives more than an hour, I will be shocked. And she will be dead all the same when this foul artifact is destroyed, and their kind purged from the world." He looked once to the pouch at his side, then at Rithrin's lifeless corpse, before shaking his head. "Let's get out of here, Justino. I've had enough of this place."

000

"That's a surprisingly honest account, General," Cirith said, her tone impressed. "And here I was, looking forward to tearing it apart and embarrassing you in front of your friends…"

"My, that was…underhanded," Morene added, a sadistic grin on her face. "A move worthy of any member of Valdemar's court. It would have been more entertaining if you'd killed Cirith though." Cirith shot an incredulous, angry glare at her, and Morene shrugged. "What? It would have been. It's nothing personal."

"Walter, that's…" Chrom muttered.

"Reprehensible, even if it was a Dark Elf," Walter admitted.

"Like you cared," Cirith scoffed.

"I didn't," Walter admitted bitterly. "But now…I've had a change of heart, Your Majesty," Walter stated definitively. "I suggest you agree to Queen Ilfa's proposal."

Everyone present was shocked silent, before Cirith laughed once more. "Wow," she stated sardonically. "That was unexpected."

"And foolish," Morene said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Not that I want this…treaty to be opposed, but were I in your shoes, I would argue against it. You've no reason to trust us. And we certainly don't trust you."

"No, I don't," Walter admitted again. "Should we all survive the war and we make peace with you Dark Elves, I can assure you I will watch you more closely than even a Storm Rider…It is a strange combination of words, is it not?" he mused, mostly to himself. "'Peace with the Dark Elves'. I once heard another strange combination of words: 'peace with Plegia'." Morene, Ilfa, and Cirith all shot him incredulous looks, even as Chrom smiled sadly. "King Chrom's elder sister, Exalt Emmeryn, argued for peace when no others would. I myself thought the idea ludicrous, and I'd only been here a scant few weeks. Yet she willingly sacrificed her life for that cause, and here we are, readying to make war against the Valmese Empire with the full support of the Plegian Navy. The best man at my wedding, in fact, was General Mustafa, the man who apparently found you." He shook his head. "I have my misgivings about this, let that be known. But Rithrin, despite being insufferable, believed in the same ideal that Exalt Emmeryn did: that there could be peace where others found it impossible. I owe it to their memories to at least try to make it a reality."

"Thank you, General Walter," Ilfa said with a small smile, as Cirith stared at him, mouth agape, and Morene continued staring at him with narrowed eyes. "This trust will not be wasted. Though our races have had…troubles in the past, my kind tire of war and conflict. We seek a new path forward. It will be a hard road, but I believe it can be done."

"Not trust, Queen Ilfa," Walter corrected. "But a chance. I have been given the chance to atone for my sins here in Ylisse; it would be wrong of me to say you should be denied the same chance. However, the decision is not mine, but the King's."

Everyone present turned to Chrom, who was smiling at Walter. "Well spoken, General," Chrom said warmly, before turning to Ilfa. "As General Lennart said, my sister believed in peace, in violence only when absolutely necessary. She willingly gave her life to that end. I have always found her convictions to be noble, even if at times I thought she was being too lenient on those who would harm Ylisse." He then held out his hand to Ilfa. "If you swear to aid us in our fight against the Valmese Empire, then I swear that you shall be granted asylum in Ylisse."

Ilfa broke out into a wide, relieved smile as she took Chrom's hand. "Thank you, King Chrom," she said humbly. "Your kindness will not go unpaid. Cirith," she stated, "return to our people and gather our soldiers. We march to war."

"Yes ma'am," Cirith stated, though clearly unhappy about the idea.

"If I may," Robin spoke up, "perhaps you could send your troops directly to Port Ferox while your Queen comes with us? We've already requested the aid of the Hironeiden Army, and given the…things that you all have done to each other, I don't think having large concentrations of each side in one spot is a particularly good idea."

"We will not send our Queen into danger alone," Morene stated definitively. "She is a gentle soul, and I will not have her browbeaten or murdered by you apes. I am coming along."

"As am I," Cirith spoke up. "Elcam and Nachmir can lead the troops to Port Ferox without trouble…maybe," she stated uneasily, drawing a concerned and angry frown from Walter. "Oh, I don't mean they'll raid villages or anything," Cirith clarified, "they're just idiots. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up at Castle Plegia somehow."

"Wonderful," Robin said sarcastically.

"Do you agree to this, Queen Ilfa?" Chrom asked.

"Yes, your tactician has wisdom," Ilfa said with a nod. "Were we to have our troops there when the Hironeiden Army arrives, things could get…messy. I'm honestly unsure if things will not deteriorate from my presence alone, but to leave them in ignorance would be a far greater error."

"Well, now that that's settled," Robin stated brightly, "I'm going to bed. No one wake me up unless it's time to march, there's another Risen attack, or you're bringing me some ale. If you wake me up for any other reason, I will have Dean eat you. I've got a headache from all of the strangeness that happened today, and thinking about the upcoming mess we're throwing ourselves into is only making it worse. Good night!" As the Shepherds chuckled at Robin's behavior and their new allies stared at him in equal parts shock and amusement, he stumbled his way back into the camp.

"He is certainly…eccentric," Ilfa stated diplomatically, eyeing the tactician's retreating form warily.

"He's insane," Walter scoffed, earning a few laughs.

"He's not…well, alright, he is a bit insane," Chrom admitted with a grin, earning even more laughs. "But it's controlled insanity, and according to him, a little bit of controlled insanity can go a long way. He's a brilliant tactician, and a good friend. Now, I'm sure you three are just as tired as Robin is. Why don't we see about getting you guys some spare tents?"

"Wonderful," Morene drawled as Chrom led them into the camp. "We're entrusting the fate of the Dark Elves to a lunatic. What could possibly go wrong?"

 **AN:**

 **I kind of forced Cirith into his memory of finding the Ancient Heart with Rithrin. The last mission of Lucretia's campaign in Crusaders has you trying to track down the now-missing Cirith and Rithrin in the Holy Ground, while evading Ecclesian units and Kaedes forces. You find Rithrin dead at the feet of the Ecclesian Patriarch after he's betrayed once Walter finds the Heart. However, in Walter's campaign, Cirith isn't present at all, which is fucking dumb because Rithrin led Cirith out there for the express purpose of recruiting her into Kaedes while he led Walter to the Ancient Heart. Patching up Blueside's narrative fuckup and creating some more delicious drama is a net positive.**

 **I took some "creative liberties" with Rithrin's motives. In KUF, he just wants to use the Heart to control Regnier and force him to overthrow Valdemar. But I also wanted Walter to actually feel bad about it, because I love torturing my main characters.**

 **Also, I'm 90% sure Cirith's "dumb as a box of rocks" act that she does all through Lucretia's campaign (and in this chapter) is her emulating her sister Nachmir, who you get to interact with in Cirith's campaign in Heroes. My GOD Nachmir is fucking stupid, and obsessed with jewelry to the point of endangering everyone's life. Cirith's entire campaign is like that, just straight comic relief, because Nachmir, her commander Dyesa, and a male Dark Elf in her unit (who's basically Virion) named Elcam are all unbelievably stupid. The whole thing is hilarious. Cirith's exasperation is delicious.**

 **The actual Altar of Destruction campaign mission for Walter is a clusterfuck. It's just awful lol. Infinitely spawning enemies, awful chokepoints, Rithrin moves at a snail's pace, and there are 4 Flame Wraith units (with 4 Wraiths per unit, so actually 16) at the end. It's just awful lmao.**

 **I always feel terrible about leaving Johannes behind to get skullfucked by the Dark Legion. But if you tarry too long trying to help them out of pity, they deploy a Swamp Mammoth, and that is NOT fun to deal with in the narrow ass spaces of the canyon. Especially if you're geared up to kill the Flame Wraiths and brought Cavalry instead of Mortars. It gets even more heartwrenching as you finally break out of the battle with Rithrin in tow. As you start going down the path to the Altar, one of the Hironeiden soldiers begs for your help, and you just leave them. It's awful. Then you betray Rithrin, he calls you a despicable son of a bitch, and Walter's kind of an asshole about it.**

 **Also, Ilfa's a giant sweetheart in Morene's campaign (or at least as much of a sweetheart as a Dark Elf can be), and Morene is needlessly mean to her the entire time. Ilfa was the commander of the entire Yenicheri corps, so she spent a lot of time around King Valdemar and, by extension, Morene, and Morene spends most of that time just being rude to her. Actually Morene's just a giant cunt anyway. It's kinda funny most of the time, but Ilfa doesn't deserve it. Poor Ilfa :(. But if any Dark Elf would sue for peace, it would be her.**


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter 69**

 **The Best Intentions**

"Robin, might I have a word?" A voice said behind him stiffly as the camp broke down and prepared to march the next morning. Robin turned to the speaker, and adopted a sheepish smile.

"Sure, Cherche," he said uneasily. "I guess you're probably kinda mad about me jumping off of Minerva last night, aren't you?"

"Not so much mad as concerned," Cherche corrected with a frown. "Why would you do something so reckless?"

"We were getting shot up," Robin explained. "Minerva isn't used to carrying two riders, and it shows. She was moving too slowly, and if I'd stayed on much longer, she might have even been killed, and likely us with her. When I saw the enemy leader, and how we were being driven away from camp, I made the decision to jump. And I even found some new allies to boot!" he finished with a grin.

Cherche, however, was not smiling. "That the outcome was favorable does not mean it was any less reckless, Robin," she stated sourly. "You are an important figure in this army, a friend to all, and an especially good friend to milord Virion. Had you hit the ground in just the wrong way you would have died, and the Shepherds would be lesser for your loss. Why would you take such a risk, especially for just one of your own soldiers?"

"Because, well, you're more than just a soldier to me," Robin said. He turned rather red when Cherche's eyebrow rose. "Not what I meant!" he said hurriedly as he realized how she'd taken it. Her eyebrow lowered, her face turning curious now. "But, well, you're 'Cherche' to me, not just 'a soldier'. Servant and knight of one of my best friends, the woman who taught me how to be a competent wyvern rider, and owner of the second cutest wyvern in the Shepherds." She smiled at that; they'd spent about an hour straight arguing over whether Dean or Minerva was cuter before, and had admitted to being at an impasse. They simply just referred to their own as cutest now, refusing to listen to what the other one said on the subject. "You aren't just a piece on a board to me, none of the Shepherds are. Virion seems rather fond of you, and I think he'd be heartbroken if you died, especially since you're basically his last link to Rosanne until we get to Valm and kick Walhart's arse out of there. Cordelia talks rather highly of you. Nowi thinks Minerva's positively outstanding, which has Dean feeling a little jealous but I digress, and Frederick has remarked that your commitment to your liege is 'admirable, especially considering how much of a cad the man is'. And trust me, when Frederick actually removes the pole that's lodged up his arse to complement someone, he _means_ it," he said with a grin as Cherche giggled. "Your death would hurt the unit in more ways than one, and I was confident I could survive the fall. Hells, Walter jumped from Phila's pegasus at twice that height, wearing armor that weighs as much as I do, and he only dislocated his shoulder when he landed. It was a risk, yes, but a calculated risk. I would make the same choice a thousand times over. I'm not blind to my own value to this unit, but it's my job to ensure as many of us make it home as possible. If that means I have to give my life, I would do so gladly. Every single person in the Shepherd is my friend, and that includes you. Sacrificing your life for your friends is one of the best ways a man can die, in my opinion." He exhaled deeply as he finished. That was a bit…wordier than he'd intended. _She's pretty easy to talk to,_ Robin mused.

"I see," Cherche responded after a moment, an embarrassed expression on her face. "I'd feared that….well, that you were simply a glory hound, or that you saw so little value in your own life that you would throw it away needlessly. I am humbled to admit that I was terribly wrong, and I apologize for thinking so little of you, especially after all you have done for milord."

"I can see why you'd reach that conclusion," Robin chuckled. "But yeah, 'death or glory' is more Khan Flavia's thing than mine, and I know people care about me. It's just a matter of priorities, and all of your lives rank above mine on my priority list. And again, that includes you."

"I'm honored and humbled to be held in such high regard," Cherche said with a soft smile. "But I would ask that you not take such risks on my account again. Minerva and I feared terribly for you after you fell, and it was quite unpleasant."

"Won't make any promises to not do anything reckless, because I want stories to tell my prospective children," he said with a wink, "but I promise to not do anything reckless unless it's _necessary_."

"I suppose that's good enough," Cherche said with a melodramatic sigh, before the pair of them laughed. "Thank you again, Robin. You are as good a friend as milord always said. Now, I believe we're lagging behind the others in preparing to march, and we must hurry or be left behind. I'll see you in the skies."

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Robin said cheerfully. Cherche bowed politely, before turning and striding away. And of course, she was already in her riding outfit, so Robin's gaze was affixed in one particular direction until a pale, delicate, flawlessly manicured hand was waved in front of his face.

"What in the- oh, Cordelia, good morning," Robin greeted cheerily as the crimson-tressed pegasus knight pulled her hand back to her side. Robin frowned, however, as he noticed the coy smile on her face. "No," he stated simply.

"No to what, Robin?" Cordelia asked innocently, even as her smile widened.

"You know damn well what I'm saying no to," Robin said, poking in her direction with his finger. "Not a word."

"A word about what?" Cordelia again asked, her smile threatening to split her face now.

"You've been hounding me about my love life for two bloody years," he growled, "so don't pretend that-"

"So you _do_ fancy her!" Cordelia stated excitedly.

"No, that is the exact opposite of-"

"Well you certainly seem to get along well with her," Cordelia interrupted eagerly, "and even a lummox like Vaike could see where your eyes were pointed."

"Have you _seen_ the back of her riding outfit!?" Robin asked incredulously, pointing at the woman in question, who was now mounting Minerva. "Who _wouldn't_ stare at that!?"

"Anyone who didn't want to make a fool of themselves if she'd happened to turn around," Cordelia answered instantly, causing Robin to blush furiously.

"I'm a _guy_ , Cordelia," Robin said pointedly. "And not with a pole up my arse like Walter. It's hard _not_ to look at… nope, we're not having this discussion," he stated promptly, before turning and striding toward his equipment that was still waiting to be loaded onto the cart.

"Oh, we're having this discussion," Cordelia said cruelly. "You can't escape me, by land or air! I've always run faster than you, and there is no way a wyvern can outrun a pegasus!"

Robin turned back around as he finished tossing his belongings on the cart. "Is that a challenge?" he stated with a feral grin.

000

Walter was at the head of the column with Phila, Chrom, Lucina, Ilfa, and Morene today. And they were riding that way from left to right; Morene and Walter wanted as little to do with each other as possible, but both were unwilling to leave their liege alone in the presence of the other. Cirith had gone to relay the order to march to the Dark Elf troops, but had assured them she'd be able to catch up before they reached Ylisstol. He raised his eyebrow in confusion as Robin shot over head like an arrow, laughing maniacally as he used wind magic to propel Dean at speeds the wyvern couldn't possibly reach alone. Cordelia bolted past a second later, shouting about how he was "cheating" and "can't run away forever".

"Well, at least they're having fun," Phila remarked with a soft laugh as Robin sent a tiny gust of wind magic back at Cordelia. It wasn't enough to risk injury, but managed to slow down the pursuing Pegasus Knight even further. She hurled abuse at him in whatever her native tongue was, eliciting laughter from the man. Robin then banked sharply, nearly running into Cordelia and her mount as he bolted in the opposite direction. By the time Cordelia had managed to turn around herself, Robin had nearly doubled the gap.

"Your tactician is a child," Morene stated disdainfully, rolling her eyes as Robin cast another light wind spell at Cordelia.

"Well, he doesn't remember his childhood," Chrom told her, "so, according to him, that means he gets to relive…live…er, he just has fun whenever he can to make up for it."

"Yet another difference between him and the Hierophant," Ilfa mused. "He was far more serious, and he remembers his childhood. While we met with him, he mentioned several anecdotes of his childhood with his mother."

"You met with the Grimleal Hierophant?" Walter asked sharply. "Why were we not told of this before?"

"Ilfa's affairs are not your concern, that's why," Morene snapped.

"No, he's right, Morene," Ilfa said. "We should probably have mentioned it before. General Mustafa brought us to see King Validar about requesting asylum. Ultimately, however, the Hierophant convinced him that we weren't to be trusted, and Validar sent us on our way."

"Do you know who the Hierophant is?" Chrom asked. "Where he came from? Why he looks like Robin?"

"I cannot say," Ilfa said. "Whatever manner of sorcery has allowed him to mimic your tactician's face was imperfect; there are a few minor blemishes on the Hierophant's face that are not present on your tactician. They likely are features present on his true face."

"The Hierophant is also an extremely powerful dark mage," Morene said warily. "Even Valdemar paled in comparison to him. He hides it well; most could not even tell that he was a dark mage at all. But I am not so easily fooled. He is, quite frankly, the most powerful sorcerer I've seen. Even I would hesitate to make an enemy of him. While your tactician has potential in the dark arts, he's nowhere near seasoned enough to be considered equivalent to the Hierophant."

Chrom nodded contemplatively. "Robin's capable of using dark magic, true, but he doesn't. he says that it feels 'wrong'." Walter and Phila shared a glance at that; they both remembered what Robin had done to Erinys up in the Northeast Tower at the Palace. That had been a powerful display of dark magic, but Robin hadn't used any since. He said he didn't want to lose control like that again.

"The Robin I knew was much the same," Lucina added distantly. Something in her expression was off, Walter noticed; she was clearly reminiscing, but there was also something she was leaving out. Had Future-Robin used dark magic once or twice in her timeline? "He refrained from the dark arts, claimed that the tradeoff in power isn't worth the cost in most cases."

"A curiosity," Ilfa noted, "but without more information, we can do naught but speculate as to the Hierarch's true nature. As it is, I believe it is wisest to turn our attentions to other affairs, namely the counter-invasion of Valm."

"A fair point, Queen Ilfa," Chrom stated diplomatically. "I forgot to ask last night, but how many troops are you offering?"

"Six hundred infantry, one hundred cavaliers, two hundred archers, and a single company of Yenicheri veterans of mixed occupations," Morene answered in her stead. "All are magically inclined, as all Dark Elves are. That is all we can field, and Cirith and I both believe it is too much of the Dark Elf population as it is."

"There are enough being left behind that should all of our warriors be slain, we will still have enough people to rebuild our race," Ilfa stated, a bit defensive at Morene's obvious criticism. "They are all volunteers, and indeed we had to decline many offers. Thanks to Morene's political savvy, we've managed to convince the majority of my people that peace is the path forward, and most of my people are on board with the idea. There are outliers, yes, but they're just bored enough to be willing to help regardless. Quite a few of the Yenicheris fall into that category."

"Who are these 'Yenicheris'?" Chrom asked.

To everyone's surprise, it was Lucina who answered. "Dark Elf elite soldiers, specializing in infiltration, sabotage, assassination, and guerrilla tactics," she stated absently. "They are widely renowned and feared for their stealth capabilities and their prowess in single combat." She seemed to realize what she was saying now; her eyes widened and she threw a hand over her mouth.

"A…very accurate description," Morene noted with a raised eyebrow. "Though I thought that you had come from the future of this world, where Bersians had never opened the Outrealm Gate. How do you know anything of Dark Elves?"

"I…I have met Regnier before," she stated quietly. Morene raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and Ilfa just stared at her stoically.

"Yes, I remember him and Leinhart assisting you at the arena," Chrom stated. Walter remembered that; Robin had had dozens of cuts from Leinhart's swordplay, and Frederick had had to have an entirely new breastplate and gauntlet forged from Regnier's sheer power.

"He appeared in my world," she explained. "He returned alongside some of my friends in their failed attempt to recover the Fire Emblem and the five Gemstones that go with it. He claimed to have visited before, in the ancient past, and had come back to 'check on the world's progress'. He was less than pleased with the state of things. He offered his assistance to us, and I accepted, being in no position to refuse allies. I dispatched him and another of my friends with soldiers in tow to scout out other potential locations of the Fire Emblem by Regnier's recommendation, and they returned successfully with the Fire Emblem and one of the Gemstones. However, at that point we were forced from the ruins of Ylisstol by the Fell Dragon himself. He engaged the Fell Dragon's Avatar in single combat as we retreated to Mount Prism. After coming through the portal, I encountered him again on the Plegian border, with three people in tow. He claimed to have fought the Avatar to a draw and retreated, coming back with help: his vassal Leinhart, and King Gerald and Queen Ellen. He was also rather…cross with me," she added nervously. "He berated both Naga and me as shortsighted fools for tampering with the river of time. He had expected the Gate to deposit his party in my own time, but Naga's portal must have interfered somehow. Regardless, he agreed to aid me once more, and we began journeying together."

"Then you four made your way to the Coliseum and fought us," Chrom pieced together. Lucina nodded sheepishly. "Why?"

"I went to Khan Basilio and became his champion on the condition that he would grant aid to Ylisse, should they ask for it. Which I knew Aunt Emmeryn would. I wanted to ensure that we received Feroxi aid in the war. Risen had followed us through the portal, and potentially one of the Fell Dragon's few remaining human servants did as well. I could not risk them interfering with the timeline for the worst. And I…well, I suppose I wanted to relive some nostalgia," Lucina stated embarrassedly. "I missed sparring against you, Father, as you used to when you taught me to wield a sword. I wanted to relive those days. And I also wished to see you in your prime; the assassination attempt that claimed Aunt Emmeryn's life saw you injured beyond healing. I…I suppose I wanted to see if I measured up," she finished quietly, blushing profusely.

Chrom's expression softened at that. "If it makes you feel any better," he said softly, "I must have done one hell of a good job training you, because that was one of the most difficult duels of my life. The only more difficult one I'd had before that was when Duke Thorne's vassal, Bastian, dueled me at the end of my own training. And few since have matched up."

"Why did you part ways with Regnier?" Walter asked sharply. "If he sought to aid you, why would he leave?"

"He did not agree with my plan to interfere as little as possible, though not because of the plan's merits or lack thereof," Lucina stated, a bit angry at the memory. "No, his issue was with me. He called me soft, unwilling to make hard choices. He called me craven…a disgrace to the legacy of Anri, Marth, and the First Exalt, all of whom he claims to have known personally. He said he would find another way to save this world. Then he and Leinhart departed, while King Gerald and Queen Ellen offered to assist me further after they…well, after they killed you, General Lennart. They told me that you were a war criminal who nearly destroyed your world. I was worried about what damage you might do, so I…let them," she stated shamefully. "I was wrong."

"That didn't exactly go according to plan," Chrom noted wryly.

"Indeed it did not," Lucina said with a small smile, before turning back to Walter. "For which I am thankful. You have done much to strengthen Ylisse, General, and may have made all the difference at Port Ferox. In my time, the defenses at Port Ferox were smashed aside with almost casual ease, and it took months to expel them from our shores, and years longer to depose Walhart. But now we stand a real chance at fighting them, Regnier's intervention notwithstanding. You are a man of honor…I don't see why he takes such issue with you…" she said that last part almost to herself. Walter's brow furrowed; Regnier's grievances with him were obvious, so it wasn't him she was referring to. Who else would she be talking about? Gerald, perhaps?

At that moment the earth shook as Robin and Dean landed abruptly, scattering Walter's thought process before it could really begin. "Well, I think we can guess why Regnier sided with Valm," he said lightly, as if Dean's wing hadn't nearly knocked Walter off of his horse and he hadn't clearly been eavesdropping. "Whatever he wants with this world, he doesn't see siding with Anri's line as the best way to go about it anymore. Maybe he feels like trying his hand with King Albein's line; Virion said that Valm was the seat of the old Rigelian throne, and that's where Albein's descendents fled during the Schism. If that's true, it's probable that Walhart is his descendent. He's certainly got the whole 'conquer everything' thing going for him that Rigel, where King Albein was born, was so infamous for."

"Regnier claims to have known the rulers of the One Kingdom of Valentia as well," Lucina said with a nod, "He showed genuine respect for King Albein, but was utterly dismissive of Queen Anthiese, saying she was 'as naïve as a newborn and half as strong'. Curiously, he also referred to them as 'Alm' and 'Celica', not 'King Albein' or 'Queen Anthiese' as they were on record."

"Those are childhood nicknames, or rather aliases, if I recall," Chrom stated, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Both children were placed in hiding shortly after their births; Rigel and Zofia's respective political situations had been deteriorating, and each line wanted to ensure that an heir yet lived. Their friends and comrades that they knew personally referred to them by that name."

"As entertaining as these wonderful little anecdotes are, I am more concerned with the fact that Regnier seems to have had such a hand in your world's history," Morene stated cautiously.

"Yes, that is concerning to me as well," Walter reluctantly agreed. "If he was not simply mad or lying, then he has had machinations on this world for…millennia!"

"I do not think his machinations are of the evil variety," Lucina stated, drawing skeptical eyes to her. "He is cold and calculating, yes. I had called him needlessly brutal after a particularly…bloody encounter with some of the Fell Dragon's few remaining human servants in my time, and he simply scoffed and called me an ignorant child. He is also incredibly irreverent, even hostile, to the Divine Dragons. But despite his…methods, his objective has always seemed to be saving this world."

"You don't save people by killing them," Robin said bluntly. "However 'good' his intentions are, the Valmese Empire is brutal beyond reason. According to Cherche, more died in Walhart's 'purges' of the areas of Rosanne he'd seized than died in the battles to _take_ those areas. Walhart is evil, and Regnier's helping him. They both need to go."

"On that, we are all agreed," Lucina stated firmly. "I know not what Regnier is thinking, but it is my duty as Exalt…as Ylisse's Princess," she amended sheepishly, remembering that she was no longer the head of the Exalted Line, "to protect the halidom and its allies."

"If you want the title of Exalt, you can take it," Chrom said with a wry grin. "I've grown rather used to the title of 'King'."

"We're crowning you as Exalt one of these days," Robin told him, "even if we have to drag you kicking and screaming to the Temple."

"Maybe when you can beat me in a sparring match," Chrom shot back with a grin.

"Let me use magic and I will, craven," Robin countered with his own grin. "You know damn well that my spellcraft is an integral part of my technique, and your insistence on banning it is-"

"You never beat Father in the future," Lucina interrupted, with a rare smile on her face. "Even with Father crippled by assassins and using your magic, he would always beat you."

"Oh _come on_!" Robin shouted petulantly as the others laughed. "You're lying! You've got to be lying!"

"I assure you, Sir Robin, that I would not lie about such things," Lucina told him, still wearing her smile. "Father is the best swordsman I have ever seen."

"Why does everyone keep calling me 'Sir'?" he groaned. "I'm not a knight or noble! I'm not even technically in the military or government at all! I work for a living, damn it, and I refuse to tolerate this disrespect!" With that, he dramatically flipped his hair and urged Dean into the air. The echoes of his friends' laughter chased him as he flew away.

 **AN:**

 **YEAH HALF-ASSED CROSSOVER LORE BUILDING**

 **More substantiated explanations of Regnier's shenanigans in Archanea/Valentia/Ylisse are going to be provided later. For now, suffice it to say that he sees Chrom and Lucina as massive disappointments and decided to hedge his bets elsewhere. I alluded to Regnier and "Marth" having met before in the Plegian Arc (unless I forgot to, it's been months since I looked at that arc and I don't remember, but I meant to lmao). This is me explaining how.**

 **Also Cordelia should not have challenged Robin to a race lol.**

 **Unrelated, Yuengling is somehow a better cough suppressant than DayQuil and Halls combined. Like the night before I wrote this AN, I was coughing up a lung. Today, I went out to a cozy little dive bar with my ex and her wife, and after the second beer I didn't cough at all. And now that it's been a few hours and I'm sober, I'm hacking up a lung again. Life is wild, man.**


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 70**

 **Friend or Foe**

"You're doing it again, love," Phila chided gently from her chair. He had been regularly turning at his desk to glance out the window nervously. The Hironeiden Army was slated to arrive today.

"You know why I'm so worried," Walter stated gruffly. "Kendal will be leading them. We did not part on the best of terms, and he has always been zealous."

"He has also always been your friend," Phila reminded him gently. "You speak too highly of him for me to believe that he would simply throw that all away because you were deceived and used. Have a little faith, love. I know you've no shortage of it; just direct a bit of it toward believing Kendal does not hate you."

"I wish I could share your confidence," Walter said dubiously. "It's just hard to…" he trailed off as he saw Phila's brows furrow and her gaze go out the window. _They're here,_ he realized, and he nearly threw himself out of his chair in his haste to witness it for himself.

"That's…that's not twenty five thousand men," Walter said nervously as he strode over to the window to get a better look. Over the hill to the south of Ylisstol, the very same hill he'd crested his first day in this world, marched the Hironeiden Army. They numbered so many, however, that nearly the entire hill was obscured. As the front ranks reached the bottom of the hill, Walter saw that the back ranks were still well away from the top of the hill itself. _Is Gerald this eager to face Regnier…or is he working with him?_

"Naga preserve us," Phila whispered breathlessly as she came up beside him. "Did they bring the entire Hironeiden Army!?"

"It looks like it," Walter stated grimly. "The others have undoubtedly seen this as well. They're likely gathering in the Great Hall to greet them."

"Let's get down there," Phila said, still nervous at the endless sea of Hironeiden troops that were still marching down the hill.

000

"That isn't twenty five thousand men," Chrom stated as Walter and Phila joined the growing congregation, echoing his own worried observation upstairs. All of the Councilors and Generals were present (Rickard smiled and waved cheerily at Walter; he had taken to his new position as General of the First Division rather well, and Walter was proud of him), along with a few other notable military officers or nobles. Virion and Cherche were present as well, representing Rosanne (such as it was, being under the thrall of the Conqueror). Chrom had brought along his wife, his sister and her husband Lon'qu, Frederick, and his two daughters. The elder Lucina was pulling quite a few gazes; some of curiosity, others of suspicion. Queen Ilfa, Morene, and Cirith were all in the Throne Room at the moment; they were going to wait until Gerald's intentions were clear, and the ice was broken, to introduce them. Walter wasn't looking forward to that. There was no peaceable solution to that conundrum.

"No, it isn't," Walter agreed worriedly.

"Robin's already got the Shepherds and Palace Guard in position," Chrom said with a grim frown. "He fears that Gerald's got other plans."

"A valid concern," Walter pointed out.

"Gerald may not like you, but he's not that aggressive," Chrom stated, though his expression betrayed his own worry. Their conversation ended there, however, as the marching of plate-mailed boots became audible even beyond the great oaken doors. There was some indistinct talking outside, and then the great oak doors began opening, with such excruciating slowness that Walter became suspicious that the doormen were simply tormenting them. Finally, however, they opened, revealing the leaders of the Hironeiden Army. Walter followed with his eyes as the herald began reading off their names. The first was Queen Snowstone of the Elves, a white haired, comely woman wearing a _very_ revealing green outfit that promoted her curves generously. A rapier hung at her belt, and she had no other armament, though she was likely naturally proficient in magic like most Elves were. _A hedonist like the rest of her kind,_ Walter thought dismissively as she sauntered forward, pulling the gazes of many men. The next one was Prime Minister Dolgahn of the Dwarven Guilds. He was short and stout, as all Dwarves were, barely coming to five feet tall. He was wearing padded leather armor and had short white hair, with a matching beard that was neatly groomed and tucked into his belt. A pair of war axes hung at his belt and the barrel of a mortar, of all things, was poking over his shoulder, with a bandolier of mortar rounds wrapped across his chest. The next person in line was a tall young man wearing a finely crafted boiled leather chest piece, pauldrons, and greaves, with high-quality chainmail beneath. His armor was clearly meant for a mobile fighter, as the light sword at his waist suggested. His black hair was braided into rows that swept back along his head, likely to keep it from falling in front of his face in battle. HIs familiar, fierce features and the pointed ears poking out from the side of his head gave him away as Prince Glen, the son of Ellen and Gerald. The King and Queen of Hironeiden were the next in line, talking quietly to each other. The one who attracted his attention almost immediately, however, was the very man he was paradoxically eager and fearful to see; High General Kendal of the Hironeiden Army.

 _He hasn't changed a bit,_ Walter thought wryly. He yet wore the same armor he had as General of Ecclesia's Second Division; full plate mail, with a long white cloth adorned with a blue cross hanging from the front of his belt. His shoulder pauldrons were each crafted in the form of a snarling tiger. His face, as usual, was concealed by the thin, jagged horned helmet he had always worn. In his hands were his mace and warhammer; perhaps looking a bit weathered, but still in superb condition. _Kendal always did believe in proper weapon maintenance._ Even though Walter could not see his face, he knew that Kendal was watching him.

The Hironeiden leaders walked forward as one. Those who had not been to Ylisstol before looking around with apparent interest (excluding the Elf who looked unimpressed, to Walter's utter lack of surprise; the elves were always haughty and arrogant). The Dwarf was so interested in the Palace, in fact, that he briefly stepped out of formation, tapped a knuckle twice on one of the columns (much to the confusion of the guard standing by it), nodded once in satisfaction, and hopped back into formation as if he hadn't left. _At least the Dwarves haven't changed,_ Walter noted with amusement. They had always loved good stonework. Walter had never really born much of a grudge against the Dwarves; their abject dismissal of any god at all was always an irritant, but they were stout-hearted, respectable folk. Their willingness to trade their machines and weapons to Ecclesia was a further boon. The Elves, however…well, Walter doubted he'd ever get rid of his disdain for them.

"King Gerald," Chrom greeted as friendly as one could with a host of soldiers on their doorstep, "welcome back to Ylisstol."

"Thank you," Gerald said with a genuine smile. "I noticed that a lot of your soldiers outside look tense. I'm sorry for the unexpected numbers that have all of your troops so nervous, but with Hexter nearly empty and Regnier rampaging across Valm, I decided that we could afford to use most of our Army for this. Twenty thousand soldiers remain behind in Hironeiden to watch the border just in case, but I brought the other eighty thousand, and most of our logistics corps, along with us."

The tension visibly dissipated as Chrom smiled and held out his hand. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Words can't express our gratitude. But…"

"But what?" Gerald asked, now frowning.

"We had an unexpected development on the way back from Plegia," Chrom said nervously. "We managed to secure another thousand troops… but you won't like it. Queen Snowstone in particular will be quite cross," he finished, gesturing towards the woman who was now glaring at him suspiciously.

"Why wouldn't we like it?" Gerald asked, his tone as suspicious as Snowstone's glare.

"Robin," Chrom said by way of answer. "Tell our…guests that they can enter now."

"This'll be good," Robin said dryly. "Good thing I sharpened my sword." With that foreboding remark, he strode over to the door to the Throne Room and opened it. He leaned in briefly, a few words were exchanged, and exited shortly with Ilfa, Morene, and Cirith in tow.

Predictably, Snowstone drew her rapier immediately and prepared an ice spell in her off hand. Gerald, Ellen, and Dolgahn were only a second behind her, the fifty-man mixed company of knights, Elves, and Dwarves behind them drawing their weapons as well. Kendal, however, remained passive, even as his own four gold armored Paladin bodyguards drew their maces. The only indicator that he was even paying attention was that he cocked his head curiously. The Ylissean Palace Guards drew their own weapons on reflex, but the Ylissean delegation's various weapons stayed in their sheathes.

"Please, stop!" Ilfa pleaded, holding her hands forward to show she wasn't armed. Cirith and Morene had been disarmed prior to meeting the Hironeiden delegation as well, and neither looked happy about it at the moment, with nearly sixty blades pointed at them. "We do not seek conflict!"

"A lie," Snowstone snarled coldly. "You blighted mutants have never sought anything but conflict. Ladies, kill them." Snowstone's Elves almost eagerly began moving forward.

"No," Chrom stated, finally drawing his own blade, holding it in a low guard. Walter drew his own mace but held it low, and the assembled Ylisseans (those who were armed) echoed the movement. "They're guests of House Ylisse, and to strike them down will be an act of war." The entire room went silent at that proclamation.

"You're young and naïve, but I didn't think you were stupid," Gerald said gruffly, before leaning on his sword as if it were a cane, breaking the tense silence. Several Ylissean Councilors gave indignant shouts, but Gerald ignored them. "Why are there two Dark Elves and a Half-Vampire here? Even though Walter's cooperated with them before, I know damn well he doesn't believe they're trustworthy. What would possess you to bring them into your home?"

"They've offered their aid in this war in exchange for asylum," Chrom explained.

"That explains the Darks," Gerald said evenly. "That doesn't explain Valdemar's whore."

"I'm Ilfa's advisor, ape," Morene spat.

"Still sleeping your way into positions of power?" Gerald said, before chuckling and lowering his blade. "Pathetic." Most of the Hironeiden and Ylissean delegation followed, but Snowstone and her Elves only looked even more eager to kill them. Walter was disconcerted to see that Ellen had sheathed her sword, only to unfold the bow mounted on her shield, and had an arrow nocked.

"Why are my affairs of such concern to you?" Morene said amusedly. "Do you tire of your mongrel wife so soon? Do you want to share your bed with a real woman for once?" Her sarcastic smile soon faded, however, as a cut blossomed on her cheek and a few strands of her hair were cut. There was a loud clatter as Ellen's arrow broke against the wall behind Morene.

"The next three don't miss," Ellen said shortly as she nocked three arrows this time. Chrom looked torn on whether to try to stop Ellen or to let Morene get shot. Walter was in the latter camp; this situation was delicate enough without all of this nonsense. If Morene had to die to restore order, so be it.

"Morene, hold your tongue unless I explicitly ask for your opinion. You're embarrassing us all and endangering these negotiations, all for the sake of some petty insults!" Ilfa snapped, surprising everyone. She was nearly as angry as Ellen now. But why would… _oh. OH,_ Walter realized in shock as he witnessed the very _personal_ look of rage on Ilfa's face. _Gerald had the right of it, then_. To Walter's further surprise, however, Morene actually adopted an expression that wasn't boredom or a sneer; she actually looked contrite. _And Morene…actually cares?_

"I… my apologies, Queen Ilfa," Morene said more sincerely as she'd said anything since joining their party. "That was unbecoming of me."

Ilfa's hard glare softened, and she nodded once before turning back to the Hironeiden delegation. "You will likely not believe me," she said, "but my people tire of conflict. You were correct, Queen Snowstone, our people have never sought anything but war and death, especially with your kind. And what do we have to show for it but a population so low that we can barely field a battalion of troops?" Nobody responded, but neither did they signal that they wanted her to stop talking, so she continued. "My people need another way forward, and King Chrom has been kind enough to grant us this chance. He does not trust us, and I do not argue that he should, but we agree that Valm is the greater threat. Can we not at least _try_ to reach some kind of understanding to that end?"

"A silver tongue hides an iron heart," Snowstone said cynically. "I will never work with your kind, mutant. Your race exists solely to kill and destroy, be it friend or foe."

"I'm inclined to agree with Snowstone," Gerald said shortly. "Your kind can't be trusted."

"I disagree, King Gerald," Kendal spoke up, the first words he'd said the entire time. Every face in the room snapped to him. "We should give them a chance. _One_ chance."

Nobody said anything for the longest time, before Gerald simply laughed. "Ellen, did you put something in my coffee this morning? Because I could have sworn _Kendal_ , of all people, just suggested we work with Dark Elves."

"You heard me correctly, Your Majesty," Kendal stated calmly. "I propose we work with the Dark Elves."

" _Why_?" Ellen asked with such incredulity that she even forgot she was supposed to be aiming her bow at Morene and lowered it to point at the ground.

"Regnier currently has over one hundred thousand Orcs roaming Valm," Kendal explained. "Which is to say nothing of this 'Conqueror's' army. Only a fool turns down allies when they're needed. I do not suggest we trust them. Merely that we cooperate with them until they show their true colors. They are few enough that, should they betray us, destroying the traitors and then wiping their kind out utterly should be a relatively simple matter. They can do little harm to us, and we have them at our mercy. If they volunteer to die in the stead of less disposable soldiers, why should we refuse?" Ilfa, Morene, and Cirith looked quite unhappy at Kendal's dismissal of their value, but to Walter's surprise, Gerald's scowl dropped a bit.

"You…have a point," Gerald said through gritted teeth.

"King Gerald, if you agree to work with them," Snowstone said incredulously, "I am taking my soldiers and leaving. We will not-"

"I think now's a great time to call in your debt to the Guilds," Dolgahn chortled suddenly. Snowstone shot him a disbelieving look, before her face turned red with rage. Dolgahn, however, continued onward, not giving her the chance to speak. "Our kinds weren't the best of friends until the Encablossa War," he told her. "Most of the Guild masters suggested that we turn your kind away when Vellond overran Arein and the Essex Forest. There would have been few tears shed by them if you all had been wiped out, trapped as you were between Ecclesia and Vellond. Yet here we are, enjoying one of the most lucrative contracts the Guilds have ever had. I trust the Dark Elves as much as anyone else, but Kendal's right. If they volunteer to die in our stead, why shouldn't they be allowed to? No, if you leave, Snowstone, I expect the full debt of eight hundred and twelve thousand, five hundred and seventy eight crowns to be paid in full immediately. Failure to pay will be considered a declaration of war." The entire room grew deathly silent at that proclamation.

"That is almost our entire treasury…that would destroy my people!" Snowstone shouted indignantly. "You can't!"

"I can," Dolgahn said shortly. "By walking away from this, you're increasing the risk to _my_ people, and undermining the entire Allied Army. You signed the same bloody treaty we all did; Hironeiden, the Guilds, and the Elven Clans all march to war together. If you're going to betray that accord for the sake of some petty prejudice, then as the Prime Minister of the Dwarven Guilds, I cannot trust you to remain faithful in _any_ of your contracts. It would be a gross abdication of my responsibilities to do anything _but_ call in your debt to us and cut ties. No, you will repay the debt you owe us, that I eschewed interest on out of good faith, or you will go to war, be it against my people or the Valmese."

"There's really no need for any of that!"Robin spoke up desperately as Snowstone opened her mouth to speak. "Really, there's no need to be launching wars on multiple fronts here. Queen Snowstone, please," Robin pleaded. "I understand that you hate the Dark Elves-"

"You do _not_ understand!" Snowstone practically screeched. "None of you do! Do you not know how the Dark Elves were created? They are the twisted, mutated remnants of several Elven Clans that were corrupted by the Arch-Lich Killiani in the First War of Heroes! These were once _our people,_ turned against us by Encablossa! Ever since then, these _abominations_ ," she spat, waving her hand contemptibly at Ilfa, who was now frowning, "have tried their utmost to murder every single pure Elf in Bersia! Were it not for Regnier nearly wiping their kind out, they would _still_ be trying to do so!"

"Yet here they are," Robin countered. "It's fine to say what might have happened if things were different, but they aren't. This is the world we find ourselves in. Queen Ilfa suing for peace with everyone here, including _you._ " Robin pointed to Ilfa. "She's trying. She hasn't lied to us, hasn't tried to pretend it won't be difficult. She hasn't even tried to hide her distaste of living among humans in the past week or so we've had her with us. But she's trying nonetheless. Her people aren't any happier about it, but we haven't received any messages that her people are revolting against her, so it's safe to assume they're willing as well, however reluctantly. What does it say about you, if you're not even willing to try for peace when a Dark Elf would?"

Before Snowstone could respond, Ilfa began walking forward. Snowstone raised her rapier, but Ilfa kept walking regardless.

"Stay back, filth," Snowstone spat as Ilfa drew close, the tip of her rapier a hair's breadth from Ilfa's neck.

"Kill me," Ilfa responded shortly. Practically everyone's mouths dropped open in shock.

"W-what?" Snowstone responded, caught off guard by the sudden proclamation.

"Among my people, we have a tradition," Ilfa told her. "Or rather, we did when we could afford such things. The Dark Elf Clans had many disputes. When one Clan leader would claim a stance or belief, their opponent would sometimes offer their life to the claimant. It demonstrates the claimant's willingness to kill for their belief, and their opponent's willingness to die for theirs. Many of our civil wars were started by such a gesture, but just as many were prevented. I offer peace, and you do not believe it is possible. If you truly believe that, you will kill me, here and now." Ilfa turned her head to Chrom. "If she does, you are not to attack her. Nobody is. She is to be allowed to depart and return to Bersia with her people." Ilfa turned to Morene and Cirith. "If she does kill me, prepare our people for war. Not against Valm, but against the Elves. They are not to attack their allies, but the Elves are to die, and we will take their territory for our own, before making peace with the Dwarves and the humans." Ilfa turned back to Snowstone. "Kill me, Queen Snowstone, if you truly believe we could never have peace."

"Ilfa, you don't have to-" Morene started.

"I do, Morene," Ilfa interrupted. "The Dark Elves tire of war and conflict. She does not believe me, and I must admit her suspicion is not unwarranted. I do not fault her for despising and mistrusting us. I am willing to die for my beliefs, however. Is Snowstone willing to kill for hers?"

"Your kind is utterly insane," Snowstone snarled. "You would risk your own life to call a bluff!?"

"I risk my life for my people," Ilfa responded defiantly. "If I must die so that they can live, then so be it. Kill me, craven."

"Watch your tongue, whore," Snowstone growled. "I will not abide insults from inferior scum like you."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Ilfa said amusedly. "I am standing right here, unarmed, with my hands behind my back, with your blade at my neck. If you were to thrust but two inches forward and one to the left, you would sever the artery in my neck, ensuring my death no matter how quickly a healer reached me. Why have you not struck?"

"Ilfa, stop this!" Morene snapped. Walter could hear the fear in her tone, however much she tried to conceal it with her normally cold tone.

"No, Morene," Ilfa responded calmly, still glaring at Snowstone. "Why do you hesitate, Snowstone? As much as I despise your kind, I know they do not lack for courage. Why do you not strike?"

"Do not tempt me, bitch," Snowstone said warningly. "I do not strike out of respect for my allies and our hosts. I care nothing for your life."

"Your actions speak otherwise, craven," Ilfa responded, sounding more amused than anything. "I have already made it clear that nobody is to interfere or take action against you. The only thing standing between you and I is your own cowardice. Kill me."

"Do not push me," Snowstone warned again.

"Kill me," Ilfa repeated, a smug smile on her face now.

"Shut up," Snowstone snapped.

"Kill me, craven," Ilfa said tauntingly.

"This is your last warning," Snowstone growled angrily.

"This is a bad idea, Queen Ilfa," Cirith said concernedly.

"I'm terrified," Ilfa drawled sarcastically. "Kill. Me."

"Or, she could, you know, not?" Robin offered.

"She will kill me, or she is craven," Ilfa said, immediately hamstringing Robin's attempt to defuse the situation.

"Kill the abomination, milady!" one of the Elves guarding Snowstone urged. Dolgahn, however simply punched the woman in the stomach without even looking at her, causing the Elven and Dwarven guards to draw steel on each other. The Elf who had spoken up and been punched by Dolgahn collapsed to the ground, breathless, but neither side made another move, unwilling to be the first to cause a bloodbath. Walter frowned worriedly; this was quickly getting out of hand. Had Ilfa lost her wits!?

"If you don't shut up," Snowstone snarled as her sword arm trembled with indignant rage, "I will-"

"Kill me already, you filthy mongrel!" Ilfa shouted over her, still grinning.

Snowstone finally had enough; as she drew her rapier back, Morene and Cirith started forward. Chrom even began walking forward, drawing Falchion once more, but Walter already knew they were all too slow. Despite his dislike of the Dark Elves, he found himself unable to watch; he turned his face as Snowstone's blade thrust forward.

Silence was the only sound for a long time. Walter finally turned his gaze forward again.

"Craven," Ilfa proclaimed proudly, even as the deep gash that was now present on her cheek bled freely.

"Shut up," Snowstone spat bitterly, even as her rapier hung limply at her side. A single drop of blood fell off of the tip. "The Elves…the Elves will fight with you." Snowstone's Elven escorts looked supremely dissatisfied with the outcome, but did not speak out.

"I look forward to it," Ilfa said, her smug grin widening so much that it increased the blood flowing from her cheek. She then turned around and walked away, humming merrily to herself as she passed by Walter.

"You, Ecclesian," Morene said to Walter as she rushed to Ilfa. "Heal her wound."

"No, Morene," Ilfa responded, still smiling. "Tradition states it must be allowed to heal on its own. I would appreciate a rag to wipe off the blood with, though." Walter wordlessly produced a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Thank you kindly, General," Ilfa said with a warm smile as she dabbed at her cheek. "Now, we have an invasion to plan, and this is the improper venue for such talks. Let us move to the Council Chambers."

"Yes, great idea!" Robin spoke up, looking rather put out at what had just transpired. With similar looks on their faces to Robin, the two delegations began slowly making their way toward the Council Chambers. Snowstone lagged behind briefly, scoffing in disgust, before sheathing her rapier and following. Walter, however, remained behind, stunned at what had just happened and staring at where Ilfa had disappeared into the Council Chambers. Phila stood beside him, as ever, and was equally shocked.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," a voice said lightly behind Walter, causing him to jump. A cold feeling took his gut, however, when he saw who had addressed him.

"Kendal," he greeted in a strained voice, forcibly keeping his face stoic.

Kendal didn't answer immediately. His expression wasn't visible behind his helmet, and his body language gave nothing away. He always was a hard man to read, even when he wasn't wearing his armor (which was very rarely). He took a slow look around the Great Hall, and Walter felt a bead of sweat run down his neck.

"So, this is where you've been," Kendal mused, before turning his gaze back to Walter, "my old friend," he finished, the grin evident in his tone. He held his free hand out to Walter.

Walter was flooded with relief and joy as he took Kendal's hand and shook it twice before releasing. The same way they'd always shaken hands. "It's been a long time," Walter said softly.

"Thirty years have passed in Bersia while you were…away," Kendal mused. "Yet I find you the same age we were when we last met and spoke as friends."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Walter said with a small laugh.

"Indeed he does," Kendal agreed warmly, before turning his helmeted gaze to Phila, who was watching them with a soft smile on her face. "Who is this that stands beside you in such a…personal moment?"

"This is Phila of House Talys…House Lennart," Walter corrected as he gestured towards Phila, who was now looking rather nervous. "She is my…wife."

"Your _wife_?" Kendal replied, his tone full of surprise. Walter frowned; did Kendal not even get his letters at all?

"Indeed, old friend," Walter said with a warm smile as he took Phila's free hand. "The Lord has blessed me beyond what I deserve. We even have a daughter together."

Kendal did not respond immediately, his gaze shifting between the two for an uncomfortable period of time. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Phila of House Lennart," he said at length, his voice full of warmth as he held out his hand. "You must truly be remarkable, if you could thaw Walter's icy heart. I had long given up hope of him finding love again, but never have I been so glad to have been wrong."

Phila smiled warmly at him as she shook his hand. "Thank you, General Kendal. Walter has always spoken highly of you."

"Well, that's certainly a surprise," Kendal chuckled sadly, causing Walter's smile to drop a bit. They were both thinking of Justino. "But I suppose we'll have to discuss such matters later; we have a war to plan, and if we tarry too long out here, King Gerald may suspect us of conspiracy."

Walter laughed at that. "Yes, he probably would," Walter responded amusedly, as the three began walking toward the Council Chambers together.

 **AN:**

 **And now the politicians and military leaders of two wars get through the meet-and-greet with minimum bloodshed. Hironeiden is here in force; like Gerald's going to miss a chance to gut Regnier lol. Seriously, the last mission of Gerald's campaign is him being fucking ass mad at Regnier, abandoning formation, and charging after him on a quest of ill-conceived revenge. Actually, Gerald's entire campaign can be summed up with "oh shit he mad". He's got one hell of an anger management problem.**

 **Snowstone is a character that's only really present in Heroes. Ellen is the first person to encounter her in her campaign; she goes to find her when she's still an Ecclesian soldier so she can depose Snowstone's brother, Sir Lonefield, the ruler of a city called Arein, so Ecclesia can take it. Arein happens to be a highly coveted location by all parties. It's got good strategic value for Vellond, it's Holy Ground according to the Ecclesian Church, and it's an autonomous city of Elves that's officially under Hironeiden protection. A great deal of Heroes occurs in/around Arein. Sadly, Snowstone's the Ecclesian puppet-ruler of Arein for like five minutes before the Dark Legion launches another major offensive and Ecclesia decides "lol fuck this ain't worth it" and bails. Snowstone and the Elven populace are forced to abandon the city entirely. She appears once more in Rupert's campaign, when the messenger Paroth goes to negotiate an alliance with the Elves, after doing the same with the Dwarves, and goes missing. Rupert and my boi Dolgahn go out to find them, only to find Kaedes forces attacking an Elven village that Snowstone is in charge of. Given that literally no other Elf is named (besides some of the mercenaries you can hire) in the entirety of Crusaders/Heroes, and that Snowstone was in charge of the Elven refugees hiding in Dwarven territory I decided to make her queen of the Elves. Dolgahn is already the primary speaker for the Dwarves in Heroes. His title is made up, but the Dwarves are a very mercantile race in KUF, so I think it fits. Dolgahn also gives Rupert not just one, but TWO free passes at the Guild-run bar while they were waiting for Paroth to return from the Elf village, so he's a cool dude. He's also very pragmatic and mildly opportunistic, as one would expect of a businessman. Also, if you have a Dwarven mercenary as adjutant and teach them the Gunpowder skill while giving them the proper equipment (namely a mortar), their Officer Ability (where you call for their aid in combat) becomes a rapid-fire mortar. And the animation is fucking hilarious; it pitches the Dwarf all over the fucking place from the recoil of hip-firing a mortar. So yeah, Dolgahn's carrying a mortar, because fuck the enemy that's why.**

 **I thought of getting the Elves and Dark Elves to cooperate in a less confrontational manner, but that just wouldn't fit. On the other hand, I thought of making it outright violent, but I couldn't get it to work. So I compromised. I mean, their races have done literally nothing but attempt to murder each other, and have such a grudge that Valdemar actually used the Dark Elves' hatred of Elves as a way to vent their more violent tendencies so they wouldn't rebel. Well, it ultimately failed and Kaedes happened, but it definitely slowed it down. The Elf races despise the shit out of each other. So, Ilfa just says "lol kill me, I double dog dare you bitch" and Snowstone reluctantly decides not to. And of course, Ilfa decides to be immature just this once and rub it in her face. There is no actual precedent or cultural custom for it; I made it up on the spot after my eighth failed attempt at trying to reach a peaceful, bloodless diplomatic solution while still conveying how much Elves and Dark Elves despise each other. It also helps explain how the Dark Elves constantly find themselves in a state of civil war without an outside party forcibly uniting them.**

 **My friend and I originally considered having Walter and Kendal have some animosity to work out, but I couldn't really come up with anything that wasn't petty or straight outlandish and my friend was at a loss too. Plus, my little "reunion" scene borrows/changes dialogue from the final cutscene of Walter's campaign, which is a bonus. Throwing back to source material is always good. Also, there's already going to be thirty shitloads of drama in the Valm Arc and I'm not really keen on making more lol. God dammit why did I start all of this drama? And why do I plan on starting so much more?**

 **Also, in Chapter 1, I was describing Kendal's armor based on memory. It had been ages since I played Crusaders, so I basically just remembered "He's tall as shit and wears gray armor with a horned helmet." and I didn't think it was fancy or anything. Then, when I looked at the wiki for something I have planned in a subsequent chapter, I realized that his armor's actually pretty fucking ornate. I fixed that error in this chapter, this description is much better (though I couldn't exactly figure out what big cat Kendal's pauldrons are modeled on, so I just picked a tiger cause I could). If you want to actually see it, just type in "Kendal Kingdom Under Fire" in Google, first link should be the wiki page for him. I might go back through and edit the description in chapter 1 after I finish the entire story. We'll see.**

 **Prince Glen is only mentioned right at the end of Ellen's campaign in Heroes. Canonically, after the Encablossa war, she marries Gerald and they have a son named Glen. Given that thirty years have passed, he's definitely old enough to be attending summits with his parents. I used one of the character models from KUF2 for him. Sadly, KUF2 is an MMO and they shut down the servers before I even knew the game had even been released (and it was only ever released in Asia), and I think the studio went out of business. So basically RIP Kingdom Under Fire, one of my favorite series. I was fucking heartbroken when I found out.**


	71. Chapter 71

**Chapter 71**

 **The Outrealm Summit**

"Alright, let's get down to business," Robin stated as Walter, Phila, and General Kendal filed into the room late and sat down in their own chairs. Gerald glared at them suspiciously, more so when he noticed the smile on Walter's face. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Robin, Tactician of the Shepherds, a paramilitary group officially outside of the formal military. Given that it was formed when King Chrom was just the Prince, though, and that he's still in command, the lines are a little…blurred now. But anyway," he said as several of the delegates' faces showed boredom or exasperation, "I'm here to outline the plan that we've come up with for our counter-invasion of the Valmese Empire.

"The Plegian Navy is preparing to set sail to Port Ferox," he began, reading from the notes he'd written yesterday. "Once they've arrived, we'll begin loading the ships. My strategy is to sail ahead with the Ylissean Army, the Feroxi Army, and the Dark Elves to secure a landing zone and establish a base of operations in Valm. Once that's done, we'll be sending the fleet back to pick up the Hironeiden Army."

"Why don't we simply sail to Valm all at once?" Gerald asked. "From what the message you left us at Port Grant stated, the Plegians have pledged enough ships to ferry at least one hundred thousand troops across the sea. The Hironeiden Army, discounting the additional forces of the Elves and Dwarves, only numbers eighty thousand. We could ferry the entire Ylissean Army, the Elves, the Dwarves, and almost three quarters of the Hironeiden Army on the first trip."

"We still don't know where the Valmese Navy is or what it's doing, King Gerald" Robin explained. "Plegian intelligence says the Valmese Navy rivals their own in size. What's worse is that they're far more practiced in conventional naval warfare than the Plegian Navy; if we run afoul of them at sea, there's a very real chance we could lose the Navy. If half of the Hironeiden Army was onboard, your military would be functionally destroyed before the war even started."

"And if they're not aboard, you will be overwhelmed," Kendal pointed out next. "Your ships will be half full at best; if they board you you will likely be routed, and then the Valmese Navy will have captured the entire Plegian Navy instead of destroying it."

"Ah, but they're not _going_ to board us," Robin said with an almost evil grin.

"And why do you believe that?" Gerald asked with a raised eyebrow.

"What, and spoil the surprise?" Robin responded, drawing severe looks from the attendees of the war council. "I'm sorry, but I can't answer that, not yet. It's an Ylissean military secret, the Feroxi Khans don't even know about it. I _can_ tell you that our…countermeasures to the Valmese require extra time, space, and supplies, however, so we won't be able to transfer as many troops as the ship sizes would suggest. We'd have to make at least two trips if we packed the vessels to bursting with soldiers instead of our countermeasures; so, I reasoned that making more trips, but with more security, is a net reduction of risk."

"If we are to be allies, why do you insist on keeping secrets?" Snowstone asked suspiciously.

"Because our countermeasures are very powerful and very dangerous," Robin stated evenly. "If the Valmese don't have spies in Ylisse, I'll eat my own crusty smallclothes." Some of the delegates scoffed or sneered at Robin's crude humor, but just as many laughed. "I do _not_ want word getting out of what our countermeasures are until we're ready to set sail. If Valm develops their own before we arrive, we will be in a _lot_ of trouble."

"Well, I suppose that's a good enough reason," Gerald said with a shrug, though he still was frowning. "So, the Hironeiden Army stays behind while the Ylissean Army goes ahead to establish a beach head. What then?"

"We need to actually get there before we can really decide on a plan," Robin said, to dissatisfied looks from the attendees. "The last refugees to come through said nothing of Regnier or his Orcs; their intervention is recent, and could have affected the situation in Valm in any number of ways. But as it stands, our plan is to secure Rosanne, the country we'll be landing in, while the Hironeiden Army is shipped over. Then, we're going to attempt to ally ourselves with the nation of Chon'sin; according to our admittedly old reports, they've fought the Conqueror to a stalemate at their border and yet retain their independence. Estimates put their army in the hundreds of thousands; if we could secure their aid, we can fight Walhart on even terms as far as numbers go."

"That is a solid plan, tactician," Kendal complemented. "But what if Regnier decides to face you himself?"

"Then we kill him," Robin said with a shrug. "Whatever he's up to in Valm, I doubt he can spare his entire Army to deal with us. If Walhart doesn't have him trying to break through Chon'sin's defenses, then he's an idiot. If he decides to break away from that conflict and deal with us personally, I'm sure we can handle it."

"Kill Regnier?" Kendal stated incredulously, exchanging looks with the various Hironeiden delegates. "I mean no disrespect, tactician, but you are severely underestimating your foe."

"He's a powerful warrior and a brutal, cunning strategist," Robin countered, "but he is only human. Nobody is unbeatable. All it requires is a good strategy and proper caution."

"You haven't faced him in single combat," Gerald stated bitterly. "I have. Twice. He killed my father the first time, and my brother the second, and they were some of the greatest warriors Bersia has ever seen. I barely escaped each encounter with my own life."

"Regnier controls the power of the Ancient Heart," Kendal added. "The power of The Dark Dragon Encablossa himself. His flesh turns away spell and blade as easily as stone, and he has strength beyond any man. Imagine a human channeling the power of your own Dark Dragon, Grima; could any of you hope to face him in battle?"

"Yes," Lucina stated from beside her father, drawing attention to her. _Well, it's a bit early, but we did plan on having this talk with the Dukes later,_ Robin mentally sighed as the Ylissean Council began looking at Lucina in confusion. Lucina drew her Falchion, and held it out for the Bersians to view. "This is the divine blade Falchion. It was once a fang of Naga, the Divine Dragon, given to mankind to fight the dragons that refused to become manaketes and eventually turned feral. It is the same blade used by the Hero-King Marth to slay Medeus, and by the First Exalt to slay Grima in the ancient past. Were we to face a human channeling Grima's power, this blade could strike him down. Could it not do the same with Regnier?"

Kendal and Gerald shared a long look, before both shrugged. "Perhaps," Kendal said cautiously. "But a single blade, no matter how powerful, will not be enough on its own to slay Regnier. He is quite possibly the greatest warrior our world has known."

"It won't be that blade, at any rate," Duke Talys said gruffly. "There's only one Falchion, and it happens to belong to the King. That's a nice replica, girl, but it's not Falchion."

"Actually…it is," Chrom said sheepishly, standing up.

"No, it's not," Duke Holzheim stated. "Falchion's right there on your waist."

"Alright, before any of this gets started," Robin interjected as he removed his gloves, "I'm going to settle the matter. Chrom, may I see Falchion?"

"But it will…" Chrom's eyes widened in realization. "Be careful," he warned as he drew Falchion and turned its handle toward Robin.

"Aren't I always?" Robin said casually as he grabbed the handle. Immediately, blue flames shot out from the teardrop-shaped hole in the guard, before flying back and wrapping around Robin's hand. He let out a pained shout and immediately let go of it.

"As you can see," Robin said through gritted teeth as he cradled his now well-burnt hand, "Falchion rejects any user outside of the Exalted Line. Rather painfully, I might add. Even some of them can't wield it; it will simply refuse to cut for them, as nonsensical as that is. Now, may I see Falchion?" he said, holding his unburnt hand out to Lucina.

"You're utterly mad," she said with wide eyes, but held out the hilt of her Falchion anyway.

"It's what Chrom pays me for," Robin said cheekily as he gripped the hilt. Once again, flames enveloped his hand immediately, and he let go with a yelp.

The Ylissean Council gaped in shock as Robin bent over at the waist, cradling his burnt hands against his torso. "Wow, your Falchion really doesn't like me…They are both Falchion," Robin stated painfully as he stood up straight. "If any of you doubt me, go ahead and test it yourself. They're just going to burn you, though, so don't be surprised when I start laughing."

"But…but how?" Duchess Astram asked in shock.

"Here's the short version," Robin said. "The lovely young woman there is Lucina, the eldest daughter of King Chrom, who came back from the future after Grima was resurrected and blew it to bits. Yes, I know, it's fantastical," he drawled as the Council's collective mouths dropped. "Consider the fact that she looks like a woman version of Chrom, fights like Chrom, uses Chrom's sword, has the exact same brand in the exact same eye as her younger self, and speaks in a manner that says 'I was a perfect student in my etiquette classes' so you know she's of noble birth." The Ylissean Councilors all began speaking at once, but he shushed them all with a wave of his hand. "If you don't believe me, ask them about it later. For now, can we please get back on course so this meeting is done with and I can go see a healer?"

Lucina was blushing furiously under all of the new scrutiny. Chrom was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The Council was silently looking between themselves, their King, their newest Princess, and Robin's well-done hands. The Hironeiden delegation and those who'd already known of Lucina's parentage just watched with amusement at the spectacle.

"We'll be having words about this, milord," Duke Talys finally said in a tone that seemed more like a parent scolding their child for eating dessert early than a man talking to his liege, "but yes, we can discuss this later. Well, go on boy," he finished, waving at Robin with his cane, "let's get this over with so you can see a bloody healer. I think I might go with you; I have a headache now."

"Thank you, Duke Talys," Robin said melodramatically. "Now that the plan's on the table, we just have to hash out the details."

And so they did. For the next several hours (that were excruciatingly painful to Robin), well after sunset, all of the notable people of five countries across two worlds hashed out the exact details of deploying to Port Ferox and the subsequent invasion of Valm. Robin didn't even know he could feel such a sense of relief as he finally hurried out of the chamber. The Ylissean Council remained behind with all of the members of the Exalted Line, but Robin was in too much pain at this point to care about that anymore. And his pain was added to as somebody slapped him upside the head.

"Ow! Gods, what the-! Oh, hey Cherche," Robin said sheepishly as Cherche glowered at him, arms crossed and tapping a rhythm on the floor with her foot.

"I thought I asked you not to take any more unnecessary risks?" She asked coldly.

"I just saved Chrom and Lucina several hours of interrogation by the Council," Robin responded. "I'd say that's worth some mild burns."

"You expect someone who has seen wyvern fire used on people to believe that those wounds aren't serious?" Cherche responded testily.

"Okay, yeah, they were worse than the first time that happened," Robin admitted, causing Cherche's frown to deepen, "but it's nothing Lissa or Maribelle can't fix."

"The first time?" Cherche asked, now sounding quite cross.

"It was an accident!" Robin said hastily. "Chrom's belt came loose on the march to Plegia, and Falchion fell to the dirt. I already had my hand on the hilt before Chrom's warning registered, and, well…I got burnt," he said with a nervous laugh.

Cherche was not amused. "You planned to do that the entire time, didn't you?" she asked crossly.

"Well…yeah," Robin admitted, and now Cherche looked outright furious. "We were planning on saving that little reveal until the end, I didn't think I'd be nursing burn wounds for six hours!"

"I am resigned to the fact that you will take risks to ease the burden of your friends," Cherche ground out, "but must you really be so difficult that you cannot even let someone know what you planned to do, so we could have had a healer on hand?"

"Maribelle's still here," Robin said with a shrug. "I was just planning on catching her before-"

"She left for Themis to rally her father's men?" Cherche cut him off. "She has already left."

"What?" Robin said, before groaning. "Damn it all, now I have to wait for Lissa to get out of there," he said, jerking his head back toward the Council Chambers.

"I ought to let you suffer for your foolishness," Cherche said shortly, before her glare softened a bit, "but fortunately for you, I do not enjoy seeing my allies suffer. I will heal your wounds myself."

"Oh, right, I forgot you can use a staff," he said hesitantly. "Will you really?"

"I will," Cherche said, before giving him a disarming smile. "Follow me."

"Thanks Cher- _oh Gods why!_ " he cried in agony as Cherche grabbed hold of one of his hands and began dragging him toward the medical ward. "I thought you didn't like seeing your allies suffer!"

"I do not," Cherche said with that same smile on her face. "But pain is an excellent teacher, and you need to be taught not to be such a fool."

Robin's protests only ended an excruciating few minutes later when he was "guided" into the medical ward and sat down one of the cots.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Cherche asked innocently as she fetched a staff from a rack on the wall, along with some vulnerary and some rags.

"Yes," Robin answered instantly. "Don't ever accept offers to let Cherche heal you."

Cherche just giggled at that. "You are always making jests," she said as she pulled up a stool, "even when you _should_ be serious."

"What's life without a sense of humor?" Robin asked with a grin.

Cherche laughed again. "Lord Virion did always praise your positive outlook on things off of the battlefield."

"Did Virion talk about me a lot or something?" Robin wondered.

"Yes," Cherche stated as she ran the rag through the vulnerary and began dabbing at Robin's left hand with it. He winced at the sting, but said nothing."In fact, the only other singular individual he mentioned as much, or with as much admiration, was one Countess Claive of Pinebrook."

"Well, good to know I'm on the same level as one of his conquests," Robin stated dryly, causing Cherche to laugh again.

"It was not quite like that," she said, giggling a bit more. "No, he would simply speak often of you. He would write anecdotes of your friendship with him, or tales of your tactical prowess leading the Shepherds to victory, or of how fond he was of the 'vagabond that Prince Chrom picked up'. I have rarely ever heard milord speak so highly of someone. And…well, you changed him," she stated quietly as she began dabbing at his other hand.

"Changed him?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Yes," Cherche responded quietly. "It is unbecoming to speak ill of one's lord, but before, in Rosanne, he was…cold. Cruel, even. Though I was spared the worst of his treatment, most of the other servants were not so lucky. He would berate them until they wept, or even strike them if he deemed their error particularly egregious."

"That's…hard to believe," Robin said dubiously. "I mean, yeah, he can be a cad sometimes, but he's never been…"

"I can assure you, he was," Cherche said morosely. "In truth, it was almost a relief when Walhart began his conquest of Rosanne; when Lord Virion fled, we were all freed from him, in a sense. Of course, any joy we might have taken was quickly crushed by the Conqueror's armies, but to not have to worry about our own lord's cruelty was a relief."

"So, what changed?" Robin asked.

"I kept up correspondence with milord, as was my duty," Cherche told him. "Even as I coordinated Rosanne's modest army and staved off the Conqueror's forces, I kept milord apprised of the situation. He would write back. At first it was essentially a constant list of complaints; no respect from his peers, no deference from the palace servants…but all of that changed a few months after his departure to Ylisse. He wrote to me once. It was another list of complaints, but at the end he spoke of 'some ruffian' who had a surprising amount of tactical ability. He claimed to have been rather impressed.

"As time went by, the complaints lessened," she continued. "He began openly speaking of other things. How beautiful Ylisse was at a certain time of year, or how beautiful the women were, though he claimed they were nothing compared to the women of Rosanne." They both had a laugh at that. "But with nearly every letter came yet more praise heaped upon your name. He soon stopped referring to you as 'ruffian' or 'vagabond', either calling you by name or if he was particularly impressed by something you'd done, 'the Most Tactical of Tacticians'."

"I always knew Virion had a crush on me," Robin said dryly.

"I had thought so myself, until he grew particularly fond of Countess Claive," she said with a laugh, before her face grew somber. "Eventually, however, I could not stave off the Conqueror any longer, and was forced to retreat to Regna Ferox, like so many refugees before me had. This was shortly before milord left the Shepherds."

"You don't leave the Shepherds," Robin instantly said with a grin. "You just go on vacation. Once a Shepherd, always a Shepherd."

"Regardless, he went on 'vacation' once my last letter arrived, informing him of my retreat," Cherche said with a smile. "We reunited in Regna Ferox. He appeared the same as ever, though with an extra scar or two. I did not notice the changes in him until I went to serve him tea."

"What, did he not like it?" Robin asked.

"Well, I was out of practice and ended up spilling it on his lap, so no," Cherche said, causing Robin to chuckle a bit. "I had thought he would be furious. He had struck a maid once for doing precisely that. But instead, he simply said 'Accidents happen my dear, 'tis no trouble!' I was so shocked that I dropped the kettle. He surprised me further by actually helping me clean the mess."

"That's odd, Virion hates cleaning up messes he didn't make," Robin said with a laugh. "Hells, he doesn't even like cleaning up messes he _did_ make."

"Yes, I thought the same. When I asked him why he was helping, he said 'ze Most Tactical of Tacticians told me once zat we must all help one another. Zat we must build each other up, zat we may become greater together!'"

"He really took that to heart?" Robin asked incredulously as Cherche finally finished cleaning his burn wounds and began channeling healing magic into them. "I was just being dramatic! I was just trying to con him into helping me clean up the training area!"

"Milord respects your opinion greatly, Robin," Cherche said with a laugh. "As I continued serving him in the following days, he would commit other acts of kindness that would take me by surprise. And each time, he would quote something you would say. It was surreal, at first. I thought I was hallucinating when he openly apologized for his prior cruelty. I eventually began to enjoy my work, though. In Rosanne, it was simply something I had to do to feed Minerva. But now, I truly enjoy my duties. That is why I remain in his service, despite Frederick's insistence that I do not truly owe him loyalty anymore."

"I just thought that, well, you served him because it was familiar," Robin told her a bit nervously. "I mean, you two are the last links each other have to your homeland. I thought that was the reason why you stayed."

"That is part of it," Cherche admitted, "but I serve because it is now a pleasure to serve. And it is almost entirely due to you," she finished softly as she finished her work on Robin's hands and released them.

"I don't really think I should claim all the credit here," Robin said, scratching the back of his neck with his now-healed hand. _God, I've been waiting to scratch that for hours._

"You should," Cherche argued, standing up. She was just barely taller than Robin now. "Milord is an entirely different man now, a better man. Even if he did not attribute any of it to you himself, which he most assuredly does, the evidence is plain for all to see. You not only changed milord's life, but my own by proxy." Robin nearly jumped as Cherche leaned toward him and hugged him. "Thank you for what you've done for us, Robin. We both owe you much," she said softly as she stood back up straight.

"A-anytime," he stuttered. _She hugged me,_ he thought numbly.

Cherche was smiling at him, probably amused at the expression that was on his face. He was a little too disoriented to figure out what that expression was, however. "Now, I'm afraid I must be going," she said politely. "I told milord I would return once I'd healed you. Good night, Robin."

"Good night, Cherche," Robin managed to say in a semblance of a normal tone. She bowed deeply, still smiling, and walked out of the room.

 _I do_ NOT _owe Chrom five gold,_ Robin thought as he stood up himself, suddenly rather tired. _I do_ NOT _owe Chrom five gold._

 **AN:**

 **Robin puts his game plan on the table and people more or less agree to it.**

 **Lucina ousted herself to the Council and Robin decided to cook himself alive to cut the screaming match short. That has absolutely nothing to do with me not wanting to write an proper, serious scene while simultaneously not wanting to ignore Lucina's existence as far as the Ylissean political structure goes.**

 **Some more backstory for Cherche too. Nothing in game (that I know of) says straight-up that Virion's abusive to his servants, but his people REALLY don't like him, meaning he was probably a tremendous dickwad in general, and he doesn't get enough character growth in-game for my liking. I mean, would it really surprise anyone if Virion beat the shit out of his maids? Except Cherche, but that's because she was technically hired as a knight and was pushed into more domestic role later. Oh, and Minerva would eat him if he hit Cherche lol.**

 **I like having Cherche have a life that isn't COMPLETELY centered on Minerva. As much as I love wyverns and think Cherche is a qt3.14, they could have toned down a notch on the Minerva stuff. That's a good part of why I adore FrederickxCherche; they spend their time discussing the nature of knighthood and swapping weapon techniques instead of constantly talking about Minerva. Wholesome.**


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 72**

 **Catching Up**

"That is quite the tale," Kendal stated, sounding impressed, as Walter finished telling him of his time in Ylisse thus far. After the Outrealm Summit, the three veterans had moved to the Shepherds' barracks to catch up over some coffee. They were empty at the moment; most of the Shepherds were already asleep, or were out doing business for the King. It was just Walter, Phila, and Kendal in the common room.

"I can scarcely believe parts of it myself," Walter agreed, "and I lived it."

"It explains why you haven't aged a day," Kendal chortled.

"Yet you must be nearing your seventy-fifth winter by now," Walter mused. "To think, before you were merely a year my senior. Now…why, now you're old enough to be my father!"

"I fear I will never quite be Sir Wallace," Kendal said as he tipped his helmet's face plate just enough to drink, before replacing it, "but I am honored to be thought of so highly."

"What has gone on in Bersia the past thirty years?" Walter asked. "Gerald was not forthcoming with details, and I suspect he ordered Ebbard to be the same way."

"You are correct. I believe King Gerald fears us becoming friends again; he blocked all of my attempted correspondence to you, and I suspect yours to me. Hence my ignorance of your marriage. Congratulations, by the way," he said warmly. "As for the affairs of Bersia…well, the first ten years or so are beyond my knowledge, and the succeeding twenty were boring and peaceful," Kendal mused. "I was sealed away in the Dark Dimension for quite some time with Regnier, Sir Duane, Leinhart, and some…friends we made there."

"The Dark Dimension?" Phila asked. "What is that?"

"Encablossa's prison, the dimension which he is sealed into when the Ancient Heart is destroyed during the Age of Dark," Kendal said, his tone now grave. "When we destroyed his Heart, we were trapped within it alongside Encablossa. And I fear that were it not for Regnier's knowledge of the place, we would have been trapped forever."

"What…what was it like?" Walter asked. He was nervous about asking, though; who knows what Kendal had seen in there?

"Surprisingly, it was quite beautiful in places," Kendal said lightly, before his tone turned grim again. "Others, however…not so much. All of them were filled to the brim with Encablossa's creations; I suppose sitting around in one place for millennia can inspire even a dark god to creativity. They were not the monsters he made from the corpses of the fallen, but beasts of his own creation. Beasts that were quite hostile to creatures of the Age of Light. I did not want for combat practice while I was there," he finished with a laugh.

"How did you escape such a place?" Walter asked.

"Through sheer grit and no small amount of luck," Kendal replied. "The full tale of our adventures would take many hours to tell, but in short, we fought monsters and the twisted souls of ancient heroes, gathering what each of our party…needed."

"What does that mean?" Phila asked curiously.

"Each of us went on our own personal journeys through the Dark Dimension, though we often crossed paths," Kendal explained. "Regnier was searching for power, of course, but also to seal away some memories that pained him. My inquiries on the subject were naturally short-lived; Regnier did not wish to speak of them, and I did not care to press the issue. Leinhart had no ulterior motives; he simply sought more power. He was always a simple man in that regard. Sir Duane originally sought escape from the Dark Dimension and nothing more, but slowly became infatuated with the spirit of a woman named Margueritte. He was lost to us long before we all reached the end of our journeys; he is likely dead, or at the very least mutated and insane like all humans become in the Dark Dimension. The saddest tale, however, is that of Celine and Curian."

"You met the King of Azilla?" Walter asked in awe.

"I take it they are figures of import in Bersia's history?" Phila inquired.

"Indeed," Kendal answered. "He is much like your own Hero-King, Marth. Celine was his wife, an Elven woman of great beauty. The tales do not do her justice," Kendal chuckled dryly. "But again, their tale is not a happy one."

"Why?" Walter asked. What happened to them?"

"Fifty years ago, the Lich Amaruark attempted to summon Encablossa at the Altar of Destruction," Kendal said gravely. "That is the simple and terrible truth of the Great Miracle: Encablossa was nearly summoned, and Nibel, the Dragon of Light, stopped it personally. When he did so, however, most of the combatants at the Altar were drawn into the Dark Dimension. Regnier was among them. While Regnier quickly escaped and returned to Bersia, Curian, Celine, and some others were not so fortunate, but I will keep to discussing Celine and Curian. They remained trapped within the Dark Dimension. While Celine's magical power was enough to stave off Encablossa's subversions, as I stated before, humans do not survive in the Dark Dimension. Curian quickly began mutating into a creature more 'fit' for the darkness. Fearing for Celine's safety should he lose his mind, he hid himself away while Celine was asleep. He bound his spirit to a pendant, even as his body deteriorated and warped. Poor Celine was so traumatized by his sudden departure that her hair turned white. She grieved so terribly for him…when I first encountered her, she was still weeping, some fifty-odd years after the fact. I found Curian on my own journey and…I killed him, though I did not even really recognize the creature I fought."

"It was a mercy, Kendal," Walter said consolingly. "King Curian would not have wished to exist in such a form."

"Indeed, he wouldn't," Kendal said, laughing to Walter's surprise. "Celine found the pendant he'd bound his soul to, and managed to convince an entity called the Idol of Love to conjure him to the world of the living to fight with us. He thanked me for freeing him from his torment personally."

"They were reunited?" Phila asked with a soft smile on her face. "That is happy news, even if he was only a spirit."

"Their tale did not end there," Kendal corrected her gravely. "Once our own journeys were completed, we all met up at the ruins of Moonlight's Clock Tower, where the exit to the Dark Dimension was hidden. Duane was missing, and last I'd seen of him, he was saying rather inappropriate things to what appeared to be a tree, though he was undoubtedly seeing this 'Margueritte' he'd become infatuated with. Regnier and Leinhart wished to return to Bersia, as I did. Celine and Curian, however…they remained behind."

"What? Why?" Walter asked in shock. "One would think half a century in that place would be quite enough!"

"Curian's very soul was tainted by the Encablossa before he managed to bind it to his pendant," Kendal said morosely. "Not enough to destroy or mutilate it, but enough to leave its mark. He could not leave, even if Celine had taken his pendant with her to Bersia. Rather than leave her beloved behind, Celine…she bound her own soul to a pendant, and then committed suicide." Walter and Phila's jaws dropped at that. "She had asked me to have the Idol of Love conjure her as she did Curian, and I obliged. Their spirits now reside together, forever, in the Dark Dimension, beyond Encablossa's ability to taint or maim further. I buried their pendants at the base of the Clock Tower before I returned to Bersia myself."

Walter and Phila sat in shocked, mournful silence for several moments.

"To go to such lengths…she must truly have loved him," Phila muttered quietly.

"Indeed she did," Kendal replied just as quietly. "Their love was one of the few wholesome things I saw in that dreaded place, and it warmed my heart amidst the cold and darkness. A bittersweet ending, but they shall spend eternity in each others' embrace. Would that we all could have such a happy ending," he finished, barely above a whisper.

"What of your own journey, Kendal?" Walter asked curiously. "The others sought their own personal goals; what of yours?"

"My goals were rather simple by comparison," Kendal said dryly. "I sought only to evade Encablossa's mutation, return to the Age of Light, and…and to aid Justino…"

Walter's face grew pale. "You…you saw Justino?" he asked, breathless. Phila looked between them nervously.

"Yes," Kendal said, his voice full of grief. "His body and soul must have been absorbed by Encablossa when he was summoned. One's dreams in the Dark Dimension are as real and as valid as life itself; it was in this dream-world where I would meet with Justino. At first, I sought to help him bind his own soul to an object. He feared that Encablossa would use his soul against one of us if he became fully corrupted, and refused to abide it. I eventually succeeded. His soul is safe from Encablossa now."

"Thank the Lord for his mercy," Walter said in relief. "If only he could be admitted entry to the Lord's Kingdom as he rightfully deserves…"

"If only," Kendal agreed, before shifting uncomfortably. "Walter, I…I'm sorry. I am so terribly, indescribably sorry. For not believing in you and Justino, in thinking so little of you that you would become heretics. I think back to that day often…When I confronted Justino, he implored me to speak with you. I was too enraged, too overzealous, to listen to him. I attacked him, and killed him. My heart twists even now, thirty years later, thinking of the smile on his face as he gave his last breath. If only I'd listened…" His gaze turned toward the table, and the wooden cup in his hand began groaning in protest as his fist tightened around it.

"Kendal, stop," Walter commanded. Kendal looked up. "You did what was expected of you as an Ecclesian Knight, and as a servant of the Church. The evidence against us was damning; I do not fault you for believing as you did, and I commend your commitment to your duty. I grieve for Justino even now, but I doubt he blames you. And neither do I. The Devil's machinations are what killed Justino, not you."

"Justino said much the same," Kendal replied bitterly. "And yet I feel the guilt all the same."

"As I feel the guilt for Greyhampton, for murdering Rithrin, for betraying the Patriarch, for massacring the Northern Border Guards, despite circumstance giving me no other choice," Walter told him softly. "We each bear the weight of our own sins, Kendal, but they do not define us."

"I suppose they don't," Kendal sighed. "But, now that we've broached the subject…I have something to give you." He then reached down to the pouch on his waist.

"A little late for wedding gifts, isn't it?" Walter asked, trying Robin's tactic of keeping the mood light.

"If only it were so simple," Kendal replied quietly, instantly crushing the attempt. He held out his hand to Walter and opened it, revealing a simple silver ring. There were no markings of any kinds, no jewels; just a simple band of silver. "Justino asked me to give this to you."

"A ring?" Walter asked curiously, picking it up. It was warm to the touch, as if Kendal had just taken it off of his own hand. He also felt…something magical about it. He wasn't sure what.

"Justino's ring," Kendal said, his voice full of grief. "That ring contains the soul of Sir Justino of House Straid, Patriarchal Emissary and Knight of Ecclesia."

Walter's eyes widened and his hand went slack, nearly dropping the ring. "Are…are you serious?" he asked hoarsely as he stared at it in disbelief.

"Never have I been more serious, Walter," Kendal said gravely. "After we bound his soul to that ring, he begged of me to take it to you. It…it was the least I could do, having murdered him."

"I…I see," Walter said quietly.

"Could we not…release him?" Phila asked, her voice low. "Not summon him as Celine did to Curian, but…destroy the ring, perhaps? Let his soul go free?"

"Unfortunately, no," Kendal stated, his voice still aggrieved. "Much like Curian, a portion of his soul is linked to the Dark Dimension now. If we were to melt or shatter the ring, his soul would simply return there, unbound and vulnerable to further corruption. Justino said…he said that he would rather stand by your side, in this roundabout fashion, than simply be buried as I did Celine and Curian. He has had enough of that place, he said. His soul is still linked to and still resides within the Dark Dimension, but Moonlight said that he can see and hear through this ring. In this way, he might experience something beyond Encablossa's cruel prison."

Walter just stared at the ring for the longest time. "Justino," he whispered. "If you truly can hear me…I'm sorry I failed you. I failed us all…"

"He does not blame you, Walter," Kendal said gently. "All of his anger over his death, and the near destruction of Bersia, lies solely with Encablossa. He still loves you as a brother, as I do, and he implored me to ask you not to blame yourself. As you yourself just stated, it was the Devil's machinations and circumstance that forced our hands."

"Brothers," Walter whispered. He then took the ring and placed it on his right hand, opposite his wedding band. He felt warmth flood him then, and could have sworn he heard a whisper. No words were intelligible, but he felt…joy. Grief. Love.

"Brothers," Kendal affirmed, holding out his right hand.

Walter hesitated but a moment, before reaching forward and grasping Kendal's hand with his own hand, the one that now had Justino's ring on it. They shook twice and let go, as the three of them had always done.

"Oh!" Kendal exclaimed in a much lighter tone. "Speaking of rings, I nearly forgot! And this is a much less grievous subject." he reached back into his pouch, and pulled out something Walter never thought he would see again.

"My…my wedding rings," Walter gasped, and Phila raised her eyebrows in surprise. There it was, plain as day; the wedding bands he'd placed on his hand, and that she'd placed on his, as he exchanged vows with Ruth nine years ago. "Where did you find them!?"

"The Second Division marched through the ruins of Greyhampton on their way to the Holy Ground," Kendal said somberly as he handed Walter his rings back. Walter cradled the precious item in his hands, staring at it in awe and shock. "Thomas came up to me after a skirmish with the Dark Legion in the ruins of the village, claiming he found them in the muck, along with a cross that obviously belonged to a high-ranking member of the Church…or a Paladin. The cross was destroyed, trampled by armored boots, but the rings survived without a scratch. Thomas did not recognize it, but I remembered that you mentioned losing your wedding rings on your last mission…I did not wish to believe it, but…"

"Thomas!" Walter gasped, not even registering most of what Kendal had said. He'd wanted to ask, his heart had burned to ask, but he didn't really know how to broach the subject. "Kendal…what happened to Thomas? Gerald said he'd gone missing inside of Encablossa, but gave no further details…Where is Thomas, Kendal?" Walter asked desperately. "Where is my son?"

000

 **Three days after the destruction of the Ancient Heart**

 **Several thousand feet above the Altar of Nowart, northern Ecclesia**

"Archers, fire on those Spitters!" Kendal shouted over the din of battle. It was an uncomfortable, unfamiliar chorus to him; he was used to the clashing of steel, the shouts of two armies, the screams of orders in dozens of different languages; but the only sounds the Encablossan monsters made were the sounds of splitting flesh as they were slain, or otherworldly snarls and screeches as they tried to kill their foes…no, their prey. They weren't soldiers; they were animals. There were no counter-strategies, no adapting to enemy movements on the fly. The monsters simply threw themselves at anything that wasn't them, until it or they were dead. This kind of warfare was unfamiliar to Kendal, and he'd decided within a day that he didn't like it.

"We're losing momentum!" Duane grunted as he swung his twin morning stars at one of the monsters. "We're falling behind the Swine Lord!"

Kendal was inclined to agree. They found themselves inside of Encablossa itself; the "floor" and "walls" of the "cavern" they found themselves in were made of deep red flesh, veins pulsing and throbbing as plated boots marched over them. The air was fetid, humid, and smelled of blood and death. In the center of the "ceiling" of the chasm was a great, lidless red eye, surrounded by a writhing mass of tissue. According to Regnier, the Heart was suspended above it, and by cutting several groups of tendons, they could lower it enough to destroy the Heart. However, monsters birthed themselves from the very flesh they stood on, and occasionally the Eye would let loose a tremendous beam of energy, mowing down dozens in a single sweep. Their mission to destroy the Heart was growing exponentially more dangerous by the minute, and Regnier was pushing his Orcs to the limit to cut the tendons suspending the Heart before they were all slain. Despite the hardiness of Kendal's own troops, they were slowly falling behind Regnier's brutal pace.

"Fear not, Sir Duane!" Thomas shouted from his position at the back of the formation as he cast a fireball at a monster that was looming over a downed Paladin. The creature's primary head burst into flames, and it fell to the floor, writhing and screeching. "The Lord is with us! We will survive this!" The boy was young, Kendal thought for the nth time; too young for all of this. Yet, even despite being a boy of twelve, he was a warrior and mage beyond peer, and already looked so much like his father…Kendal shook his head. Thoughts of Walter brought him nothing but pain. _Why, Walter?_ he asked himself for the nth time as he struck down another monstrosity. _Why did you do this? What would possess you to bring this upon us!?_

"God ain't gonna save our hides, boy!" Duane barked as he struck down another monster. Kendal frowned, even as he swung his own lucerne into one of the monsters, knocking it several feet back, allowing it to be killed by his knights. "Only thing that's gonna do that is our own hands!"

"As faithless as ever," Thomas scoffed, even though he was grinning as he swung his mace at another monster. "Go on ahead, General!" Thomas shouted to Kendal as his opponent thrashed in its death throes on the ground. "I will hold here with the Paladins; you must help Regnier destroy the Heart!"

"That's a damned suicide mission, boy!" Duane shouted. Kendal immediately agreed. "You'll be overrun in minutes!"

"The Lord guides my hand and watches over me!" Thomas shouted proudly. "We will not fall before the Heart is destroyed! Go!"

"We aren't leaving you behind, Thomas!" Kendal roared. "I promised your father I would bring you back! Get back in formation!"

"Negative, sir!" Thomas replied obstinately. _His brow furrows the same way his father's does when he's being stubborn…_ "Destroying the Heart is more important than anything! Especially promises to dead men!" he practically spat. Kendal frowned; Thomas had been worried for his father, but over the past day, any mention of him seemed to anger the boy. Things had been rocky between them, certainly, but Thomas had never been this vehement before…. "Follow Regnier, while we still-"

Thomas' protests were cut off as Encablossa's inner eye fired another beam of energy; Kendal was thrown from his feet as it lanced clean through the human ranks, almost exactly between where Thomas' Paladin unit was fighting and the rest of their forces.

"Thomas!" Kendal shouted worriedly, hurriedly scrambling to his feet and struggling to see through the smoke. "Are you-" there was a sickening tearing sound, and ice flooded Kendal's veins as he watched the fleshy floor suddenly lurch upward. And upward it rose, until a twenty-foot wall of solid flesh had cut off Thomas and the Paladins.

" _No!_ " Kendal roared in despair and rage. He muscled his way through the slowly ending melee around him and began striking at the wall. It did nothing, however, besides leave some mild bruising. "Thomas!" he shouted desperately. "Do you hear me? Thomas!?"

"I'm here!" Thomas' faint reply came, followed by some coughing. "We've lost some men, but there are still many of us left. Go, General! Now is your chance! Encablossa's cut off most of his own foul creations behind this wall, the arrogant fool! We will hold them here while you destroy the Heart!"

"No, Thomas!" Kendal roared defiantly. Even as he turned his gaze to find a way around the wall, however, he saw it continuing to grow. It was now several hundred feet long in either direction, and showed no signs of stopping growing. "Hold there, Thomas, we will come for you!"

"If you do that General, all is lost, and you know it!" Thomas shouted back, just as defiant. "We have no other choice, and you're wasting what precious little time we have! Go!"

Kendal worked his mouth wordlessly for a second. He couldn't leave Thomas. He _couldn't._ His gut churned and his eyes burned at the very thought of it. He was Walter's son, his _brother's_ son, and Kendal loved him like a true nephew. He couldn't just _leave_ him!

"Fight on, Paladins!" Thomas cried from beyond the wall. "Show no fear, and show no mercy! The Lord is with us; with His guidance, we cannot fail! Fight on, brave soldiers of God! Think only of the glory of Heaven!"

" _Think only of the glory of Heaven!"_ Walter's voice echoed alongside his son's. Kendal lifted his faceplate briefly, wiping a single tear away before replacing it.

"I _will_ come back for you!" Kendal swore, his voice terribly close to breaking.

"I'll be counting on it, General!" Thomas replied. "Now please, _go!_ "

"Come on, General," Duane said quietly. To Kendal's absently-noted surprise, Duane's own face was full of grief. He and Thomas had never seen eye to eye, but there was still a certain camaraderie there, the kind that only war can forge between otherwise disparate individuals. "We will honor his sacrifice by completing the mission."

"He is not sacrificed," Kendal stated bitterly. "Not yet. We are going to come back for him." Sir Duane's face echoed his own internal doubts, but as ever, Kendal swallowed them. His men needed to be led. Falling to pieces wouldn't save them, and it wouldn't save Thomas. He pushed himself to the front of his now-regrouping Knights. More of the creatures were birthing themselves from the floor between them and the now-distant Orc army.

"Go!" Kendal snarled, a burning rage bursting to life in his chest. _These foul things have destroyed too much. They shall not be allowed to live one minute more_. "Show them the wrath of God! For the glory of Ecclesia!"

"For the glory of Ecclesia!" his knights echoed.

"For Thomas," Sir Duane said quietly. "The bravest knight I've ever known."

"For Thomas," Kendal agreed, just as quietly. Thomas had never been officially knighted. He was still technically a squire, but that didn't matter to Kendal; knighthood was in a man's heart. Service and sacrifice to Lord and land were its central tenets. And Thomas certainly possessed the heart of a knight. Steeling his resolve, he raised his weapons and charged forward, ready to destroy the Heart and purge Encablossa from the world for good and all. Even as he charged forward, he tried to tune out the dwindling sounds of battle beyond the wall behind him. He would make it back in time. He would.

000

"All of us who survived the battle were pulled into the Dark Dimension, as few as that was," Kendal muttered in a dead tone of voice as Walter put his head in his hands. "I searched high and low for your son, as did most of the others. Regnier even searched, saying he respected him for his fortitude, but…we could not find him."

"Thomas," Walter muttered, practically sobbing the name. "My boy…" Phila wrapped her arms around Walter's shoulders as they began shaking.

"I am sorry, Walter," Kendal said, his own voice cracking. "I swore to protect him, to return him to you. I failed."

"No," Walter choked out, his voice thick with sorrow. "I failed him. It was my decision to squire him to you. I was a coward. I was out of my depth; I didn't know how to raise a son on my own after Ruth died. But instead of learning, instead of stepping up and being a proper father, I sent him off to the Academy and threw myself into my work with the Emissaries. Then I squired him to you because I didn't want him to follow in my footsteps... It was _my_ decision to throw him into the war. It was _my_ decision that…that killed him." He could hold his tears no longer; he grabbed hold of his wife and let them flow. Kendal bowed his head in grief, and Phila sobbed alongside her husband, as a father grieved for his son.

 **AN:**

 **Poor Walter :'(**

 **Kendal's stories of the Dark Dimension are from the game Kingdom Under Fire: Circle of Doom. I'll be honest: I haven't finished it. With any of the characters. I really, really want to, but the gameplay just isn't that engaging. Actually, it's just straight up boring most of the time. Heroes and Crusaders are fun as shit and I play them to this day, but Circle of Doom is just a subpar RPG/Hack n'Slash sort of deal with wonky combat, level up/equipment mechanics (HP is actually the fucking dump stat in this game for crying out loud), and controls. Also, there is no dodge or block (outside of Auto-Block weapons or Kendal's shields but they're not that good), so every boss fight is determined by how fast you can heal off damage/jog out of the way of their attacks (which is hard as shit). The game is honestly pretty mediocre. Which sucks, because I REALLY wanted to enjoy the game. Also, they changed Kendal's voice actor and he puts me to fucking sleep, I'm mad as shit. Like the dude is so unbearably boring that I couldn't even get past the first conversation before I tried my hand with Regnier's campaign. They also changed his voice actor, and he's kinda bad, but still bearable. My knowledge of the shenanigans that happened in the Dark Dimension mostly comes from reading the wiki (which is also kind of a mess because the series only has a small cult following, mostly in Asia, and nobody really cares to update/clean up/properly create pages). I've changed a few things here and there in the narrative, but to my knowledge they're not significant departures from the actual game. Also, Duane's campaign is hilarious, it's one of the few I got kinda far into. He's actually such a self-absorbed prick that Encablossa can't even mutate him. It's fucking hilarious. Encablossa explicitly states how ridiculous the situation is. Duane is fucking invincible by sheer virtue of being an asshole. Leinhart's campaign is also comedic relief half the time, he hits on the Idol of Love (one of the merchants) and I choked on my drink when he did that.**

 **Kendal doesn't talk to Justino in the Dark Dimension in Circle of Doom; he talks to Walter. Walter is canonically dead, but we're ignoring that for this story (because I didn't know it at the time I started writing), and I'm substituting Justino in his place. In Circle of Doom, Kendal tries to help Walter find Thomas for a bit (from what I read anyway; again, Kendal's voice actor is infuriating in CoD so I didn't even get anywhere in his campaign), before Kendal notices Walter's acting pretty funny. The wizard Moonlight, a super important wizard from the first two Wars of Heroes, helps him bind Walter's soul to a pendant so he doesn't go insane. His desire to find his son was the only thing holding him together as it was. (Also apparently pendants are popular things to bind one's soul to, I changed Justino's item to a ring for diversity's sake.) Walter asks Kendal to give that pendant to his son if he finds him. Walter is alive at the start, but the process of binding his soul kills him, but saves him from further torment and mental degradation. There's also other stuff that Kendal has to deal with, but that will be a minor plot point later, so I won't go into that here. Y'all can fucking wait lol.**

 **Also, an amusing aside: When I stopped by Thomas' wiki page to brush up on some stuff, one of the suggested links at the bottom led to Cordelia's wiki page on the Fire Emblem wiki. I may or may not do something about that coincidence in the future lol.**


	73. Chapter 73

**Chapter 73**

 **Return to Port Ferox**

"Captain Phila," Robin asked quietly as he caught up to Phila in the air above the convoy, "what's wrong with Walter?" The Grand General was riding ahead of the Shepherds' formation, head bowed low and refusing all contact that wasn't his wife. And even she was often ignored or rebuffed. Everyone had quickly realized that he wanted space, and so they granted it to him. Chrom was worried, though, and had asked Robin to look into it.

"He found out that his son is…dead," Phila said softly. Her voice was full of pity and grief for her husband, and Robin felt the same emotions blossom in his own chest. "He was cut off from Kendal while they were inside of that Encablossa creature, and he was not found within the Dark Dimension, Encablossa's prison, where all of the survivors of the battle were trapped. He is…not taking it well."

"No kidding," Robin said, before blowing a raspberry. "I don't really have words to express how awful I feel for him. He told me before that he hoped his son still lived, but now…"

"Now that hope is dashed," Phila finished for him, sniffling a bit. "He blames himself, you know. He says that it was his decision to throw Thomas into the war, and his summoning of Encablossa, that resulted in his death."

"That's rubbish," Robin immediately stated. "Yeah, he made mistakes, but Thomas wasn't forced into anything. He chose to follow his father's wish to go to war, and he chose to follow Kendal inside of that demon."

"I tried to say as much to Walter, but he would hear nothing of it," Phila sighed. "I…I feel so out of sorts. Of all of the things I've seen in my years, I have never seen someone I have personally known lose their child. I know of soldiers who have had such terrible things happen to them, of course, but for someone I know…for someone I love…I just don't know what to say."

"I don't think there's anything _to_ be said," Robin responded. "Just be there for him. It's all you can do."

"And it's not enough," Phila muttered bitterly. "But I suppose you're right."

"The next time you talk to him, let him know he has my condolences," Robin muttered. "I wish I could have Chrom place him on furlough, but with the war…"

"He would never accept it," Phila laughed dryly. "But your sympathy and consideration will not go unappreciated. Not by Walter, and certainly not by me. Thank you, Robin."

"Anytime," Robin responded with a strained smile. "If you two need anything, let me know."

"We will," Phila promised, Robin nodded respectfully, before pulling Dean back toward the rest of the formation. Once he landed, he relayed the situation to Chrom.

"Gods," Chrom muttered mournfully. "That's terrible."

"You're telling me," Robin muttered back. "I don't even have a child, and just the thought of that happening to me makes me feel physically ill."

"He was merely separated from General Kendal, no?" Lucina asked from her father's side, where she'd been stuck like a shadow since joining their group.

"I wouldn't bother going down that line of thought," Robin said cynically. "Walter did before and now look at him," he said, gesturing ahead to where the General was staring with deadened eyes at the saddle beneath him. "Encablossa's monstrosities are so terrible that Gerald and Walter didn't even want to talk about it before. Those two are as tough as nails, and those monsters scare them. If Thomas was cornered by them, his chances of survival are astronomically low."

"In my time, we lost many friends," Lucina countered. "We also lost family. But living in the shadow of the Fell Dragon made survivors of all of us; there were dozens of times we were forced to leave one or another of our friends behind or send them into impossible odds, and they would always return. If nothing else, this 'Thomas' sounds like a survivor. He may yet still live."

Robin narrowed his eyes at her. _She sounds pretty confident about that,_ he thought suspiciously. _Could she…no, she says she'd never met someone from Bersia before Regnier appeared._ "Yeah, maybe," Robin muttered. "I wouldn't get Walter's hopes up again, though. Let the man grieve, Lucina. It is better that he mourns and moves forward with the possibility of being proven wrong later than having his hopes dragged out across years, only for concrete proof of his death to surface."

"You speak wisdom, Sir Robin," Lucina said with a grave nod. "I will say nothing to Sir Lennart, but I will not give up hope on his son until there is concrete proof of his death."

"You know, you're surprisingly optimistic about this sort of thing," Robin said lightly. "I figured coming from a future of death and ruin would make you…I dunno, a little more dour or something. I mean, you're pretty serious all the time and I think you could use a nice, long vacation, but this isn't the first time you've shown a hopeful streak."

Lucina laughed just a touch bitterly at that. "Well, you aren't wrong," Lucina responded. "There was little cause for joy in the future. But we tried to find happiness and hope wherever we could; sometimes it was all we had, on nights where we could not eat or drink. And just as many times as it warmed us, it burned us when our hopes were shattered. But I try to remain hopeful regardless…I must confess, it rarely works. But the people of Archanea looked up to me, so I at least learned to play the part, so to speak."

"Was it really that bad in your time?" Chrom asked quietly.

"Yes, Father," Lucina said gravely. "The very earth itself was ruined; drinkable water was scarce, and food even more so. The only things we were able to find in abundance were spare weapons from the Risen that hunted us constantly. But in no small part thanks to your teachings, my friends and I survived. And now, here we are: closer to quelling the threat of Grima than we ever have been. Despite the horrors of the future and the dark fate that hangs over us even now, I feel I must at least try to remain hopeful, if only for the sake of those who look up to us. In my timeline, the Plegian War dragged on from before I was born until I was nearly ten, and Duke Thorne rebelled almost immediately after. The invasion from Valm came but a scarce two months after Thorne's death in Ylisstol, and it took months to repel their landing party. The counter-invasion and subsequent war took years…Reading the reports from the Palace was horrible. The Shepherds and the tattered remnants of the Ylissean Army were outnumbered horribly, barely ten thousand against numbers so large that I did not even want to think of them. It was actually by chance that Walhart was stopped in my time. The Shepherds ambushed a convoy, expecting it to hold an important military governor that they planned on interrogating, only to find the Conqueror himself, with only a few guards to protect him. After assassinating him, the Valmese Empire fell into a war of succession, as Walhart has no wife or child. It was a stroke of fortune in a war that felt doomed to failure. The last letter I received before the notice that we'd won had us projected to withdraw from Valm within half a year; to make a last stand upon our own shores. Hope for victory was all but abandoned before that fated day."

"Holy…" Robin breathed. "That…that sounds…"

"Horrendous, yes," Lucina finished for him. "But here we are, launching the counter-invasion after but a single battle, with an army stronger than I could ever have hoped to see. The Plegian war ended in months instead of years, with relatively few casualties. And even without the Hironeiden Army, you managed to repel the Valmese landing party before they could ever advance beyond the ports. My future was, grim, Sir Robin, I will not lie. This timeline also looks grim, with Regnier's intervention in Valm. But with everything that I've seen in this time and everything that has happened…I can do naught but hold onto hope, even if it merely ends up burning my hand in the end."

"Well said, Lucina," Chrom said proudly.

"Yeah, we'll make our own fate," Robin agreed, grinning. "We're going to kick Walhart in the teeth so hard that he'll be crapping them out years from now, we'll pummel Regnier so badly that he'll go crawling back to Bersia to tell the future generations of Orcs how terrible we are, then we're going to shove you and your father's Falchion's so far up Grima's backside that you'll never get the stench off."

Lucina actually laughed at that; it was the first time Robin had heard it before, and he thought it was a wonderful sound. For a second, the stern, serious young woman disappeared and a smiling, laughing one took her place. The woman she should have been. He was honestly heartbroken that such a young woman had already born so many burdens.

"You were never so…crude in the future," Lucina giggled.

"Oh, gods," Robin groaned, "are you telling me I turn into a stick in the mud?"

"Yes and no," Lucina replied, her smile fading. "You would jest and prank with the Shepherds as you do now, but it felt…different. Less like it was innocent fun, and more like you were attempting to distract yourself. Your smile never quite reached your eyes, your laughs were short-lived. You seemed to bear a heavy burden, but being nothing more than a child, I could not fathom it. It is only after bearing the same burden myself, carrying the weight of the survival of mankind, that I understand why you were always so…melancholy. Father was much the same way, in fact, though he went to great lengths never to let me see it." Lucina trailed off then, frowning, seemingly gazing far ahead of her, though at nothing in particular.

"We will not fail again," Chrom told his daughter, putting his hand on her shoulder firmly. "We are better prepared this time, Lucina. I failed you once; I will not fail you twice."

"You did not fail, Father," Lucina said. "When the survivors of the final battle returned, they said that you and Robin had slain the Grimleal's leader together, saving mankind…only to be betrayed. Murdered. Then Grima was resurrected by his own Avatar." Chrom's face grew pale, and he stared down at his saddle. Robin's brow furrowed.

"Betrayed?" Robin said sharply. "By who?"

"I…I do not know," Lucina said hesitantly. "The Shepherds would not say; the betrayal hurt all of them too deeply to speak of it. Seven of them were reported killed in action during the final battle; it could have been any of them. It also could have been one of the Dukes or assassins in their employ; they had long since grown to resent the Exalted Line for their 'failures' against Plegia and Valm."

"Nobody in the Shepherds would betray your father," Robin said vehemently. "We're a close knit unit. We're family. None of us would do that. It had to have been one of the Dukes."

"Perhaps," Lucina said dejectedly."All the same, Father was betrayed. Sir Frederick barely managed to retrieve Falchion before they were forced to flee from Grima. He…he couldn't even retrieve Father's body…" Lucina's shoulders began shaking ever so slightly, and she looked down at her own saddle.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chrom said softly, leaning over and wrapping his arm around Lucina's shoulder. She leaned slightly towards him, and her shaking stilled. "You've had a hard life, Lucina. You didn't deserve it, and it kills me to know you went through all of that. And I swear to you now, it will not happen again. Not while I live."

"Your father's right," Robin said emphatically. "I'll die before that happens again. We all would. Whoever betrays your father won't even get the chance this time, I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you, Father, Robin," Lucina said quietly, pulling herself from her father's embrace and sitting upright, her smile returning, though far more subdued than before. "Though hope is a dangerous thing, you both inspire me to hope regardless."

"That's the spirit!" Robin said cheerily. "Positive attitudes lead to positive outcomes. Like I said, Walhart and Grima, and anyone helping them, are going down, and I will deliver their arses to you on a silver platter, with a big ol' note that says 'Told you so' on it. You'll see, Lucina. We're going to win this."

"I certainly hope so," Lucina said, some of her melancholy attitude reappearing.

"No," Robin said sternly. "We're _going_ to win this."

"Sir Robin," Lucina said patiently, "As much as I would like to be as optimistic as you are, the situation is still precarious. We do not have the luxury of-"

"We are going to win," Robin cut her off. "Say it."

"Robin," Lucina said exasperatedly. "I understand what you are trying to do, but-"

" _We are going to win this,_ " Robin emphasized. "I'm not listening to a word you say until you repeat that phrase, Princess. Say it."

"Fine," Lucina grumbled. "We are going to win this," she said flatly.

"Okay, now how about saying it like you actually _believe_ it," Robin said just as flatly.

"We are going to win this!" Lucina said with fake cheer.

"Wow, sarcasm, that's a new development from you," Robin chortled. "Let's try it again."

"We are going to win," Lucina said exasperatedly.

"Again," Robin commanded shortly.

"We are going to win," Lucina said, now sounding a bit annoyed.

"Chrom," Robin said exasperatedly. "Could you please show your daughter how it's done?"

"We will not fail!" Chrom instantly shouted, his voice brimming with confidence. A few of the Shepherds behind them chuckled a bit at Chrom's apparently random exuberance.

"Did you hear that, Lucina?" Lucina nodded in irritation, clearly just wanting Robin to shut up. "No, seriously, did you hear that? That's _conviction_ , Lucina. Your father _believes_ we're going to win. Or he's just really good at bluffing it, but that's just as good for morale management purposes." He then flipped himself around in his seat so he was riding backwards. "Oy, Shepherds!" he shouted. "What are we gonna do in Valm?"

"Kick so much Valmese arse that they'll be telling their children horror stories of us for generations!" Sully roared instantly. The other Shepherds gave wordless bellows of agreement.

"Gods bless you Sully, I love you and your endless motivation!" Robin shouted, causing the others to laugh as Donnel instantly shouted to keep his filthy tactician hands off of his wife. Robin flipped himself back around. "That's why I'm confident we'll win, Lucina," Robin told her, pointing backwards. "That motivation, right there. Every single Shepherd back there knows how deep we're about to be in the suck, but they're still raring to go. That's because we have each other, Lucina. We fight together, and so far, nothing's been able to stand against us when we're together. Now, say it again."

"We are going to win," Lucina said after a moment, putting as much confidence into her voice as possible.

"Well, damn," Robin said, "you might convince the village idiot with that tone. That's s an improvement, but not enough. Again."

"We are going to win," Lucina said.

"Better," Robin said approvingly at the extra confidence in her tone. "But again."

"We are going to win!" Lucina exclaimed.

"You've got the confident tone, but you need the 'oomph', the motivation!" Robin told her, though he was grinning at her improvement. "You've got some of the best fighters in the world behind you. You've got your father by your side, stronger than he ever was in your timeline. We've got one hundred and twenty-five thousand troops backing us. We've got some of the most advanced weaponry ever seen, magic that Valm hasn't even heard of, and we've got the blessing of Naga herself, with the proof right there when you look in a mirror. We've united entire races, races that have tried for hundreds of years to kill each other, against the threat of Valm. We've forged bonds across worlds! And when we win, you'll finally get to experience peace for once in your life. So what's going to happen when we get to Valm!?"

"We are going to win!" Lucina shouted back, grinning herself as her voice rang out. The Shepherds behind her roared their agreement, and she blushed embarrassedly.

"Now _that's_ what I'm talking about!" Robin whooped as Lucina stared at her hands, clearly flustered. "That's downright inspirational, Lucina! Outstanding!"

"I second that," Chrom stated warmly. "I know I tell you at least twice a day, Lucina, but I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Father," Lucina said quietly. "That means more than you'll ever know."

"Now that you've got me all hyped up," Robin said, rolling his shoulders, "I'm taking Dean for a flight. You hold onto that motivation Lucina. Things will be different this time, because we're going to _make_ it different." A second later, Dean unfurled his wings and took off into the air, Robin whooping excitedly as they shot away.

"One thing is certainly different- him," Lucina mused as Robin and Dean flipped and spun about in the air. "He was never quite so exuberant in my time."

"In a good way, I hope?" Chrom asked with a chuckle.

"Yes, I would have to say so," Lucina responded, laughing in kind. "It is…comforting. There was always heaviness in the air around the Shepherds in my time; it is absent here."

"As much as he likes to tell me I'm what's holding the Shepherds together," Chrom mused, "I don't think I am. It's him. He talks to everyone, befriends everyone, and knows how to get everybody fired up and raring to go. I couldn't ask for a better tactician…or a better friend. He's like the brother I never had."

"That much is the same from my timeline," Lucina said wistfully. "Though my mother did her utmost to comfort and assist you, you relied as much on Robin for emotional support as you did for tactical advice. You would almost become a different person in the rare moments where you were together, without any official business to weigh you both down. You even genuinely smiled."

"Do you know why I'm so confident we'll win, Lucina?" Chrom asked, and she shook her head. "Because we have Robin. With him on our side, we _can't_ fail. If you ever doubt our odds, Lucina, just remember that Robin's gotten us through everything that fate has thrown at us, with no casualties. His plans haven't always worked, true, but that's only when something completely out of the blue and unpredictable happens, and even then, we manage to escape each time, alive and unharmed but for a few scratches. Grima's victory last time was because of trickery and deceit, not because he earned it, and we're prepared for his tricks this time. We will win, Lucina; and Robin will be the one to lead us there. He's right; things will be different. You'll see."

"I believe you, Father," Lucina said with a smile. Her father nodded once and smiled himself, before turning back forward. Lucina's own smile faded as she turned forward and watched as the tactician flew about, doing aerial tricks on Dean for the Shepherds' amusement. _I hope you are both right when you say things will be different this time,_ she thought grimly as she watched her father's best friend, practically an uncle to her, performing for their friends…their family. _I will not let you be murdered again._

 **AN:**

 **Walter's a sadboi :(**

 **Also, minor headcanon lore dump here. Pulling some idea of the future timeline from child character supports is a retarded nightmare of inconsistencies and plot holes, so I just went with what made sense. Lucina had to have been old enough to be trained with a sword when her father died, so she had to be at least a pre-teen, if not older. I'm going with the younger side of it because practically all of the children mention "growing up" after Grima's resurrection, so they had to have endured it for at least a few years. I also wanted Plegia and Valm to seem like bigger deals in her timeline. I mean, it just makes sense to me that the Plegian War would drag out for ages without Emmeryn's sacrifice, which would consequently weaken the continent as a whole, which would consequently mean that Valm initially fucked up their shit. And, of course, there's my definitely-not-canon rebellion. In my headcanon, Cherche was forced to retreat from Rosanne a couple years into the Second Plegian War, and the remainder of the time between Cherche's retreat and Walhart's initial invasion was spent with Walhart subjugating Chon'sin and the remaining territories of Valm. I'd say specifically how and when Say'ri figures into that whole mess, but it's obviously going to be a plot point on it's own so y'all can wait.**

 **I decided to put Robin being a motivational speaker here for some wholesome content. Lucina's a pretty dour person with occasional bursts of hopefulness, I wanted to have Robin try to cheer her up a bit. One of my drill sergeants in Basic was similar to how Robin was in this chapter, only slightly more belligerent and aggressive about it. Like he would point out all of the good stuff we were doing/would do as part of the Army, both for ourselves and for the country as a whole, but he'd be calling us degenerate shitbags and all other sorts of colorful insults the entire time. It was inspirational in its own weird little way and I loved it.**


	74. Chapter 74

**Chapter 74**

 **A Wrench in the Gears**

"These reports are accurate?" Robin asked Frederick grimly as the command staff of the combined Allied Army assembled in the ruins of the former Port Ferox harbormaster's office. Despite the size of the room, it was still quite crowded. With Chrom, Frederick, Lissa, Sumia, Lucina, Basilio, Flavia Gerald, Ellen, Glen, Phila, Walter (who insisted on working despite grieving, the stubborn old bastard), Kendal, Snowstone and Ilfa (who were mandated by Robin to be on opposite sides of the room at all times, though they were constantly glaring daggers at each other), Morene, Cirith, Dolgahn, General Themis, General Holzheim, General Sedgar (how in the nine hells is he still in service, despite being ninety!?) the newly-appointed General Rickard Thorne, General Draug, Virion, and a Plegian representative (Robin couldn't even pronounce his name) that would only be staying until Admiral Bahar arrived, and assorted aids and scribes all in attendance, it was pretty much standing-room only.

"Unfortunately so, Robin," Frederick said just as grimly. "Bandits and Risen alike have taken the mass troop movements as a signal to increase their attacks. General Mustafa has the situation in Plegia mostly under control, but the same cannot be said for some parts of Ylisse and Regna Ferox."

"Not to be callous, but we can't afford to backtrack across two countries just to hunt down bandits," Gerald spoke up.

"Would you say the same if it were your own people?" Phila asked hotly.

"Yes," Gerald rebutted simply. "All of our villages and cities contribute to local militias that operate outside of the Hironeiden Army's jurisdiction. It was a measure I instituted after the Greyhampton Massacre. Combined with the troops we left behind, we don't fear bandits."

"But Ylisse's first war against Plegia nearly destroyed their population," Kendal pointed out, "and Regna Ferox is quite frankly not populous enough to support such a strategy and still have enough men to field an army. These bandits must be dealt with before we depart, Your Majesty, or they will continue to raid and pillage in the absence of the Ylissean Army."

"Again, we don't have the time for that," Gerald repeated. "Even if it will take two months for the Plegian Navy to finish whatever modifications Robin has them making and to sail here, that won't be nearly enough time to move tens of thousands of men around in the wilds, tracking down bandits and Risen. It would take months, and if the rest of the Valmese Navy isn't preparing to launch as we speak, then this 'Walhart' is an idiot."

"I will not leave my people as prey for bandits," Chrom stated with a tone of finality.

"Nor will we," Flavia spoke up angrily, with Basilio nodding at her side.

"I agree with Gerald," Robin spoke up. As Flavia, Basilio, and Chrom all turned to him angrily, he held up a hand. "That we can't afford to move the entire army," he elaborated, and their heated expressions simmered down. "So, instead, I propose we dispatch strike teams to take down the troublemakers at each of these locations. Namely, we dispatch the Shepherds in teams large enough to handle these missions, maybe with some line soldiers if they're hitting one of the more entrenched positions. Groups of no more than thirty can cross distances far more quickly and easily than entire armies."

"A good plan, as always," Chrom said after a moment with a smile. "I'll lead them myself."

"No, you're going to stay here you damned glory hound," Robin argued with a grin, and Chrom frowned at him. "You're Ylisse's representative here, Chrom; you can't just go off hunting bandits because you're afraid of the paperwork here. You need to remain here and coordinate with the Hironeiden and Feroxi Armies and the Plegian Navy."

"Then who will lead them?" Chrom asked.

"Well, depends on the group," Robin said with a shrug. "I can count on Stahl, Cordelia, and Frederick to lead three of the teams. That takes care of the biggest problem areas in Ylisse. We can dispatch companies of the mainline army to deal with the other two or three bandit hideouts, they're relatively small and poorly equipped."

"And what of Regna Ferox?" Flavia asked. "Who will be leading the soldiers in clearing out the bandits here?"

"I will," Robin said with a grin. "There's only four locations in Regna Ferox, and they happen to form a pretty nice loop. I'll take some of the Shepherds to the Risen-filled mansion on the eastern coast, go up north to hit the slavers, and loop back around to get that one murderer with the hired muscle, and our last stop will be to clear out the Risen from those ruins. By the time my team has circled around, the others should be on their way back. And even the opposite end of Regna Ferox is within a messenger's reach, so I won't be totally out of contact if there's an emergency."

"You just want to get out of organizing the fleet, don't you?" Chrom asked with a wry grin.

"You know me so well," Robin chuckled, causing Chrom to roll his eyes. "But that's really just a secondary bonus. Every once in a while I feel the need to get back to my roots, some basic skirmish-level tactics. It helps me make higher-level strategies easier."

"Why do I get the feeling that that explanation is a load of pegasus dung?" Phila asked, causing the others to laugh."

"There is a method to my madness, Captain Phila," Robin shot back instantly, before turning to Frederick. "Fredrickson, I'm taking Gaius, Sully, Donnel, Nowi, Vaike, Virion, and Cherche. Go find Stahl and Cordelia, you guys can all fight over who gets who."

"Did…did you just call me _Fredrickson_?" Frederick asked incredulously. "You know what? Never mind. I'll go convene with the others," he muttered, stomping out of the tent.

"And before you ask, Tharja, I already counted on you coming along," Robin added.

"Good," Tharja spoke up smugly, startling everyone because nobody knew she was there.

"When did she get here!?" Snowstone cried in shock, Tharja having appeared from directly behind her.

"She's been here the whole time," Robin said nonchalantly.

"But _how_?" Snowstone insisted. "I did not hear or see her enter!"

"Nor did I," Ilfa said in wonder. "How could she evade two Dark Elves, a Half-Vampire, and an Elf!?"

"Magic?" Robin suggested with a shrug. "Beats me how she does it. Given that her husband's a professional thief, maybe he taught her some tricks. Might as well get used to her shenanigans, she's always hanging around me. Anyway, are there any other matters for me to attend to before I get ready to hunt some bandits, Chrom?"

"No, there aren't," Chrom said, shooting Robin a look that said that he wished he was going in his stead. "I believe that concludes the meeting, actually, if nobody else has anything?" Chrom and Robin looked around, but nobody raised any concerns. "Alright then, dismissed."

000

"You are a sly devil, oh Most Tactical of Tacticians," Virion said with a grin as he met Robin at the eastern edge of town, where his team was assembling. "If only I were able to so deftly evade my responsibilities!"

"Technically, I'm still only in charge of the Shepherds, so the Allied Army's not my responsibility," Robin shot back as he climbed atop Dean.

"'Technically'," Virion rebutted cheekily. "But I must confess, it is nostalgic. Just you and I with a few stalwart companions, striking down ze bandits and other foul creatures that would threaten ze innocent!"

"I know what you mean," Robin said as a wistful smile came to his face. "Seems like a lifetime ago that we were worrying about driving brigands out of Southtown or how to assault the Farfort…A lot has changed since then."

"But ultimately for ze better, no?" Virion responded. "We saved many innocents, made friends far and wide, brought order to ze chaos, and many of us have even found sweet romance…which reminds me," he said, a cruel smirk forming on his features. "You spend much time with my lovely retainer, do you not?"

"Oh, gods, this again," Robin groaned. "Why is it that the second I talk to a woman, everyone thinks I'm head over heels for her? Hells, I talked to Cordelia constantly during the Plegian campaign and nobody said a peep about that!"

"Not zat you heard," Virion corrected, causing Robin to frown. _People thought Cordelia and I…what!?_ He thought incredulously. "But ze grapevine ever buds with new fruit, my friend."

"I take back everything I've ever said about you and the rest of the Shepherds," Robin said sourly. "You are all horrid people. You disgust me beyond words."

Virion simply laughed at his friend. "Yet you care for us all ze same, friend Robin," he said warmly. "Do you truly mean to say zat you feel nothing for Cherche?"

"I'm not having this conversation, Virion," Robin said flatly. "I've been dodging Cordelia's interrogation attempts for weeks now, and I'm not putting up with it from you."

"But I only wish to see you happy, my friend!" Virion said in a dramatically hurt voice. "Do you really have so little faith in ze Archest of Archers?"

"No, you wish to torment me," Robin corrected, grinning despite himself as a shadow briefly passed overhead.

"How did you put it in ze meeting…'zat is just a secondary bonus'," Virion said, grinning madly as Robin facepalmed.

"Gods, I hate it when you quote me," Robin groaned. "Fine. Want to know what I think of her? She's absolutely gorgeous and pleasant to be around. Is there something there now? No. Could there be? Maybe, but I'm not going to try. I've got too much on my plate to be worrying about romance," Robin stated shortly. Robin's brow furrowed in confusion as Virion's started warring between dread and hilarity halfway through his answer, contorting itself every couple of seconds to fit his emotional state. "What's wrong?"

"And who is the lucky woman who holds such high regard from you, Sir Robin?" a voice said behind him. The absolute last voice that needed to be intruding on this conversation.

"Cherche," Robin said weakly as he turned around, trying to school his features to not show the screaming panic alarm bells in his mind. "Nobody that you need to worry about. Lovely weather, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Cherche said with a shrug from atop Minerva. "It is dreadfully cold this morning, though. How do the Feroxi tolerate these temperatures?"

Robin's panic subsided when he saw that Cherche obviously had no idea he and Virion had just been talking about her. "With some really strong beer," Robin replied, causing Cherche to giggle. "Hey, do you mind going over and telling Sully that I want her riding point on this operation?"

"She will surely be glad to hear that; that would mean she will be first into the fray," Cherche said with a smile. "I will be back momentarily." With that, she turned Minerva around and began stomping over to where Sully was just mounting her horse.

Robin quickly turned back to Virion. "You have your bloody answer!" he whisper-shouted as Sully began making a lot of noise as per usual, "so please, if you have any love for me, drop the damned subject, at the very least until we get back to Port Ferox and we're not going to constantly be around her."

"As you wish, my friend," Virion said with a bow as Cherche began returning.

"Sully's response was to whoop loudly and slam her lance against her shield, before bellowing at her husband to 'get a move on'," Cherche remarked with amusement. "I take that as her acceptance of her orders?"

"More or less," Robin said with a smile, before turning to Virion. "Virion, you've got rearguard. And no staring at my arse."

"But 'tis such an alluring sight!" Virion whined petulantly, causing Cherche and Robin to laugh.

"Alright you rascals!" Robin barked, catching the attention of the others. "Form up! Let's get this show on the road!"

000

They had made good progress that day; with the group so small they were able to double up everyone on the mounted units and Nowi (Robin could still smell whatever exotic perfume Tharja loved so much on the back of his coat from having her clinging to him all day) and were thus able to go half again as far as they would have on foot. At this rate, they would arrive at the town near their first destination tomorrow night, rest up there, and set out in the morning. They'd already made camp and had dinner, and now everyone was settling in for bed.

"Alright, Dean, just like I showed you," Robin said with a grin. His wyvern rolled his eyes, but laid down and bent his wings like Robin had trained him. Robin then simply threw his heavy, insulated tent canvas over him.

"What…what are you doing?" came Cherche's incredulous voice behind him.

"Making my tent," Robin answered cheerily as he began pounding the stakes into the corners, being careful not to hit Dean's wings.

"…With Dean inside of it?" Cherche asked, her voice still dumbfounded.

"Wyverns get cold, you know," Robin said, finally turning toward her and shooting her a cheeky grin as he finished his work, stepping back to appreciate it. The canvas covered most of Dean's body, with just his tail and his head sticking out. As Robin watched, Dean pulled his tail in underneath him and tucked his head beneath his wings, which he pulled inward from supporting the now-secured tent. Robin hung a thick blanket on the back of the tent to cover up Dean's backside, and thus, he fit an entire wyvern inside of his tent.

"Well, yes, but…really?" Cherche reiterated. "You could not simply gather wood and let him start a fire for himself as I did for Minerva?"

"Takes too long, and this way, he absorbs all of the body heat I give off," Robin stated as he wormed his way into his tent alongside Dean. "Plus, the smoke and fire would give us away to any unfriendly eyes."

"I want to call you mad," Cherche said numbly, "but I cannot find a single flaw in this plan."

"Genius and madness are two sides of the same coin," Robin replied with a grin.

"Apparently," Cherche muttered. "And what of your belongings?"

"There's a surprising amount of space in here," Robin answered, yanking his pack forward as he lay on his stomach. "When we're in Valm we won't be able to do this, but for small excursions like this, this is perfect."

"I…I am at a loss for words," Cherche said in incredulity. "I truly cannot put into words how ridiculous this is."

"Ridicule me all you like, Cherche," Robin shot back, "you're just mad that you didn't think of this first."

"I would _never_ think of something this ludicrous," Cherche countered, though her lips quirked upward and betrayed her hostile tone.

"And that's why I'm the tactician here," Robin said definitively. "You have to think outside of the box."

"Or outside of your mind," Cherche chuckled, though she looked at the tent thoughtfully.

"Admit it; you're going to copy my idea," Robin said with a victorious grin.

"I most assuredly am not," Cherche declared.

"Yeah, we'll see about that in…three hours when you have to wake up to fetch Minerva more firewood and it's cold enough out here to freeze your eyebrows off. I've got a spare canvas like this," Robin replied, pulling his pack forward again and thrusting it toward Cherche's feet, "in case you change your mind."

"A futile gesture," Cherche said insistently. "Regardless, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Good night, Robin."

"Good night, Cherche," Robin called cheerily as she walked away, shaking her head in disbelief.

When Robin awoke the next morning, the spare canvas was gone from his pack.

 **AN:**

 **The wyvern tent idea is an idea I had randomly when doing a mission in Regna Ferox on one playthrough. I'm like "how tf do my wyvern riders keep their mounts from dying in the cold when they make camp?" My only answers were "fetch firewood for them to burn", which is really bad if you're trying to be low profile, or "stick them in a tent". I found the idea of a wyvern crammed into a tent hilarious, so I decided to stick it in here.**


	75. Chapter 75

**Chapter 75**

 **Daughter Of Dragons, And A Shot From The Dark**

A shrill, terrified scream echoed through the halls of the dilapidated mansion the second the Shepherds strode through the remains of the door.

"Well, this mission's already off to a good start," Robin sighed. The Shepherds had been forced to leave their mounts outside, due to the constricted hallways, and now there was a civilian apparently trapped in here. "Sully, Donnel, Cherche, Nowi, Vaike, you're in front! Tharja, Virion, we're the second rank! Nowi, I know you have better hearing than the rest of us, where did that scream come from?"

"Straight ahead," Nowi answered.

"Right, let's get there! Stop for nothing! If it's hostile, kill it!"

"My favorite orders!" Sully roared, before taking off at a sprint forward. Vaike and Donnel were just behind her, with Cherche and Nowi following after, with Nowi having already transformed. The second rank soon followed, and soon the Shepherds were charging full bore down the hallway.

The sounds of combat soon appeared, but something was off about it. There was no real clashing steel, more like someone was swinging a weapon against a stone wall. A bellowing roar echoed as they neared a corner, and a jet of white-hot flame interrupted their charge, forcing them to nearly trip on themselves as they struggled to stop their forward momentum before they ran into the flames. The now-dissipating corpses of several Risen flew along in the flames' wake, the empty weapons and armor visibly melting from the tremendous heat.

"Holy crap," Robin muttered in shock. They were ten feet away and he was _still_ sweating from that incredibly brief exposure to the heat.

"That was dragon fire!" Nowi said, her flanged dragon voice full of child-like excitement. "There's another manakete here!"

"Nowi, wait, don't leave forma….oh why do I even bother?" Robin groaned as the thousand-year child ran around the corridor and out of sight. "Shepherds, after her, before she runs into an ambush!"

Robin's fears turned out to be unfounded, however; the Shepherds rounded the corner to see Nowi back in her human form, talking to a braided blonde-haired girl in a red dress roughly the age that Nowi appeared to be. Robin's brows shot up in surprise when he noticed the same pointed ears jutting out from beneath the girl's hair; she was indeed another manakete.

"Nah," the girl was saying as Nowi was practically vibrating apart at the seams with excitement at meeting another manakete.

"Oh, don't be like that," Nowi whined, deflating somewhat. "I just want to know your name!"

"That _is_ my name," the young girl responded in a long-suffering tone of voice, as if she'd done this multiple times before. "N-A-H. Nah. That's my name."

"Wow, that's a goofy name," Nowi laughed.

"And whose fault would that be!?" Nah exclaimed in an almost accusatory tone of voice. _Wait…blonde hair the exact same shade as Vaike's, manakete…._

"I dunno, your mother's I guess?" Nowi said with a shrug.

"That means it's your fault, Nowi," Robin said as he walked up to the pair. Nah shot him a suspicious glance as he came near, clutching something in her hand tightly. Her dragonstone, Robin concluded. "I'm going to make an educated guess that this girl is friends with Lucina, correct?"

"You…you know about Lucina?" Nah asked in shock. "She made it back? When!? I've been looking for her since I got here a little bit ago!"

"Wait, _what!?_ " Nowi and Vaike exclaimed simultaneously.

"Oh man, Chrom owes me money, finally," Robin sighed contentedly. "I _told_ him the friends Lucina mentioned had to be the other Shepherds' kids, but he didn't believe it. If only I'd betted more than five gold…"

"You're my _daughter_?" Nowi asked numbly, her face blank.

"We…we have a kid?" Vaike asked just as numbly.

"Uh…yes?" Nah said sheepishly, glancing between her newly-revealed parents nervously.

" _Holy cow that's awesome!"_ Nowi shouted exuberantly, causing Nah to jump. "Vaike, we have a daughter!" She proclaimed excitedly, jumping up and down in one place, before wrapping the now-startled half-manakete into a bone-crushing hug. "And she's awesome! And she's also a manakete like me! And she's just as strong as I am! And she's got the _prettiest_ hair!"

"We…we have a kid?" Vaike reiterated numbly. His eyes then rolled up to the back of his head, and he fell to the floor.

"Dad!" Nah cried in abject terror, running over to Vaike's prone form and shaking him violently. "Dad! Oh gods, I've known you for ten seconds and I've already killed you!"

"Relax, Nah," Robin said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder and making her jump. "He just passed out. He'll be fine in a minute."

Nah's terror-widened eyes slowly wound themselves back down, and she took a deep breath. "Okay," she muttered shakily to herself. "Don't be scared. Dad's fine. Mom's fine. They're here. The Risen are dead. There's nothing to be scared of. Don't be scared."

"You don't need to hold back, you know," Nowi said as she walked over to her daughter, with a level of tenderness Robin had never heard from her before. It was surprising, but heartwarming.

"I wasn't holding back," Nah stated as she knelt by her unconscious father. She waved flippantly in the direction of the Risen she'd incinerated. "Those Risen can attest to that."

"That's not what I meant," Nowi corrected. "You don't have to hold your emotions in all the time."

"But…I do," Nah said weakly as her father began to stir. "I can turn into a _dragon_. That's not normal. People expect me to be fearless. They expect me not to cry. Why would someone who can turn into a dragon cry?"

"Honey," Nowi said softly, "your mom cries. _All_ the time."

"But…but I…" Nah muttered, before sniffling. "Oh _gods_ Mother," she sobbed, "it was _awful_. I thought I was going to _die._ Then you two showed up, and he collapsed, and I thought _he_ was going to die, and I don't want to lose you again…and…and I…" Nowi wrapped her arms around her daughter as she collapsed into sobs. Nowi soon joined with her own sobs.

"C'mon Shepherds," Robin called out as Vaike woke up and immediately embraced his crying wife and daughter, obviously confused but operating on instinct. "Let's secure the mansion, and give these guys some space."

000

"So, we have found one of Princess Lucina's elusive friends," Virion mused as they regrouped outside of the mansion shortly afterward. Apparently Nah had arrived from her own time nearly an hour before they'd arrived, and had destroyed most of the Risen in the mansion on her own. Robin was both impressed and more than a bit concerned that such a young girl could manage to slay so many Risen on her own, dragon form notwithstanding. The three were now talking together a little ways away from their group. Vaike was still a little dumbfounded, and Nah simply looked tired. Nowi, however, was positively ecstatic, bouncing up and down and bombarding Nah with questions.

"Yep, we sure did," Robin said with a soft smile. Though Nah looked tired and a bit annoyed at her mother's enthusiasm, she was clearly happy about being reunited as well. "And now Chrom owes me five gold."

"Ze one time you do not choose to gamble six months of pay, and it happens to be ze one time you were right," Virion said with a grin.

"Oh, shut it," Robin groused, though he smiled himself as Virion laughed. "This is a touching moment; let's not ruin it by tormenting me."

"As you command, Most Tactical of Tacticians," Virion said with a grin. "You are correct zat zis is heartwarming; I feel terribly for ze Princess, and for zis girl as well, for having endured ze horrors of Grima's resurrection. But against all odds, here zey are, reunited with zeir parents. Zey deserve happiness, after all zey have endured."

"Yeah," Robin agreed. "I can only hope we find Lucina's other friends too."

"Hey, Robin!" Nowi shouted. "Nah wants to know if she can join us!"

Robin left Virion and made his way over to them, so he wouldn't have to shout. Nowi and Vaike both got up and gave them a bit of space, which Robin suspected was by Nah's request. "Are you sure you want to do that, Nah?" Robin asked cautiously as he stopped in front of her. "We're going to war against Valm soon; I don't want you to feel obligated to join up. You and your friends have endured enough hardship; you don't need to be throwing yourself into a war."

"I'm sure," Nah said with a confident nod of her head. "I mean, yeah, I could just stay here in Ylisse while you all go, but…well, I never knew my mother and father in my time," she muttered quietly. "I was barely more than an infant due to my slow aging when my parents were…were killed. Sure, these two aren't the exact same as my birth parents from my time, but they're who my parents were when they were alive. I want to get to know them, and I don't want them to get killed if I can do something to stop it."

 _This girl's better spoken and more mature than both of her parents combined,_ Robin noted dryly. "Alright then," he said with a smile and held out his hand. "Welcome aboard."

Nah smiled as she took his hand and shook it. "I am honored to serve," she replied humbly.

000

Robin sighed as they quit marching for the day. The slaver's stronghold, their next stop, was only a few hours north of them. Robin had thought about just marching the extra couple of hours and attacking immediately under cover of night, but he wanted Nah to have a few moments with her parents before he threw her straight into combat. Plus, they were all somewhat tired. Not exhausted, but a good night's sleep would have them all ready and raring to go.

"Robin?" Cherche said, catching his attention. "I would like to thank you for allowing me to borrow your spare canvas."

"Not a problem," Robin responded cheerily. "It wouldn't do to have poor Minerva freeze to death."

"She would have been fine," Cherche responded. "I would have gladly woken up and fetched more wood, but I must confess, getting a full night's sleep after a long day's march is refreshing."

"I'm glad to be of service," Robin said with a grin. "How did you tame Minerva anyway? You said something before about being nine when you found her?"

A wistful smile came to Cherche's face. "Indeed. My childhood home was right on the Chon'sin border. I wandered into Wyvern Valley there when I was but a child of nine. I didn't know where I was at the time, so when baby Minerva breathed fire at me out of the little cave she'd hidden in, I didn't evade it properly. I still have the burn scar on my shoulder."

"Wait, you got hit by wyvern fire as a _child_ and survived?" Robin asked incredulously.

"Minerva was but a baby, and was sick and injured," Cherche explained. "In truth, her fire at that point was little stronger than a novice's fire spell. After that first puff, it was barely strong enough to singe my hair. Regardless of her injuries and her age, however, she thought to make a meal of me, and rushed out of the cave to attack me," Her nostalgic smile grew. "We fought, then, and I emerged the victor. However, she was near death by the time I won, and I took pity on her. I ran home and came back with a staff, which I had been training with, and nursed her back to health enough for her to walk. I then brought her home with me to finish the treatment, as it was getting dark outside and I knew better than to remain in Wyvern Valley after sunset. My mother was quite shocked when I walked into the yard on the back of a sick baby wyvern."

"I can imagine," Robin said with a grimace. "I take it your mother let you keep her?"

Cherche giggled at that. "It wasn't easy to convince her, but yes," Cherche responded. "Those were…good years. As Minerva grew, however, the costs to feed her grew beyond my parents' ability to afford. It was at that point that I sought employment with milord."

"I'm surprised Virion hired you," Robin remarked. "He's not terribly fond of wyverns."

"He had no quarrel with them prior to my employment," Cherche laughed. "It was only after one of his unwelcome flirtations towards me resulting in nearly losing an arm that he grew to dislike them."

"Why am I not surprised?" Robin said dryly, causing Cherche to laugh again.

"Because we both know milord too well," Cherche answered, still smiling. "What of you and Dean? I have heard rumors, but I would hear it from you."

"Not much to it, really," Robin said with a shrug. "I was rooting out some Valmese animal smugglers in Nordenheim with Walter. We were fighting in their warehouse, and one of my thunder spells broke the lock on Dean's cage. Unfortunately, the smuggler's leader managed to knock me down while I was recovering from the casting. He was about to kill me before Dean...well, there wasn't anything left of the guy to bury once Dean was done with him. He nearly attacked Sully and Stahl in his rage at being imprisoned, but I managed to calm him down. We took him home, and we've been best friends ever since."

"Valmese, you say?" Cherche asked curiously, before looking at where Dean was curled up next to a tree. "How odd."

"Not really," Robin said with a shrug. "Wyvern trade in Archanea is prevalent only in Plegia, where they have an abundant wild stock to take from. Given the wars over the past decade or so, however, the trade between Ylisse and Plegia has dried up. It's not surprising that a market cropped up from Valm."

"That's not what I meant," Cherche clarified. "Wyverns are relatively rare in Valm. Griffons breed faster and are nearly as strong, so they've driven wyverns out of all but the most inhospitable mountain ranges and valleys. There are few aeries outside of Wyvern Valley in Chon'sin, and almost all are inaccessible to humans. If Dean is from Valm, then that means he and Minerva both are likely from Wyvern Valley."

Robin's eyebrows rose in shock as he looked over at Dean himself. "I…I didn't know that," Robin muttered. "Maybe that's why he's so fixated on Minerva. Maybe he can tell she's from the same place."

"I wager that it's mostly due to him being an unneutered male," Cherche said with a laugh, "but that may play a small part in it, yes."

"How do you know he's unneutered?" Robin asked, a bit put off at the idea of her examining Dean's…he shuddered at the mental image.

"Male wyverns' horns stop growing once they're neutered," Cherche explained, pointing as Dean s scratched a spot on his shoulder with the horns that jutted out and forward from the side of his head. "I've seen you filing them down before."

"Oh, right," Robin said sheepishly, feeling like an idiot. "I…I don't really know that much about wyverns, other than their feeding and grooming habits and their abilities in combat, to be honest. Literature on them is sparse in Ylisse, and the wyvern tamers of Plegia aren't fond of sharing information. Especially with the tactician who directed the army that just kicked their arses."

"I can imagine so," Cherche laughed. "If you like, I could teach you what I know."

"Could you?" Robin said hopefully. "I feel terrible for knowing so little about them. Like, I feel that I'm failing him by not knowing this stuff."

"You have done what you could with what you have," Cherche told him, "and I think it's admirable that Dean is so healthy and happy, despite you having so little information to work with."

"I've really tried," Robin said softly as Dean yawned sleepily. "He's a good boy; he deserves the best treatment I can give him. He's obviously getting tired, though, so I think it's time to turn in for the night. Good night, Cherche."

"Good night, Robin," Cherche responded with a smile. "And thank you once more for the tent."

"Any time," Robin said with his own smile, before Cherche turned and walked away. He then walked up and over to Dean, who looked up sleepily as Robin approached. "Alright there, big guy," Robin said, "Just help me make the tent, and we can go to sleep." Dean grumbled but complied, shifting himself so Robin could throw the canvas over him.

"Are you really from Wyvern Valley?" Robin asked as he pounded in the tent stakes. Dean didn't answer, just staring ahead, looking bored. "If you are, we might stop by there on our campaign. Would you like to see home again, buddy?" Dean didn't answer again; he obviously didn't know what Robin was talking about. "Well, I suppose we'll see when we get there, won't we?"

000

"They've captured someone," Robin muttered angrily as the Shepherds beheld the slavers' stronghold from atop a hill the next morning. The stronghold was based in the ruins of an old fort in the middle of the Feroxi wilderness, with a small river meandering through the center. A group of them were shoving an incredibly thin, frail looking, black-haired young woman into a makeshift cell made from the ruins of the fort they were camping in. These slavers were well equipped too; their weapons and armor were high quality, and more than a few of them were mounted on horses, griffons, or pegasi. _Being mounted likely makes it easier to run down targets,_ Robin thought bitterly. _It ends today._ Robin _hated_ slavers. He didn't even really know why. He got brief, vague flashes of the same brown haired woman who he was ninety-eight percent certain his coat originally belonged to, but that was all he had. It didn't really matter though; he hated them, and they were pretty reprehensible people, so he didn't have any problem with harboring it.

"We need to get in there," Sully growled. "These slaver scum need to die."

"Why risk our own necks when I can just curse them?" Tharja asked boredly. "A slow, painful death by the tissue in their lungs breaking down over the course of a year seems a fitting end, no?"

"I would normally be fine with that, Tharja," Robin said, "but I think their captive would appreciate something a little more immediate. Nowi, Vaike, Nah, Sully, Donnel, and Virion; go make some noise. A lot of it. We need to pull those guards away from the prison before we can secure the hostage. Gaius, Tharja, you're with Cherche and me; once the slavers have been drawn away, we're going to go down there and free that girl. Once we have, you two are going to secure the girl while the rest of us kill these slavers."

"You want noise?" Sully said with a feral grin. "You got it!" She charged over the hill, nearly throwing Donnel from the saddle behind her with the sudden movement. "Come on you bastards!" She roared, slamming her lance against her shield to make even more noise. "Come and get us! What's the matter you gutless pieces of pig shit, you afraid of a woman!?" Predictably, nearly every slaver within earshot turned toward her and charged. A second later, however, several of them were roasted alive as Nowi and Nah flew overhead, diving out of the clouds above them. Vaike jumped from Nowi's back onto one of the griffon riders, knocking them clear out of the sky and using the slaver's body to break the fall. Just to be sure he was dead, Vaike pulled out his axe and planted it in the slaver's chest, before charging at the next one. Several of the pegasi began dropping as Virion pelted them from atop his own mount, expert shots finding the gaps in armor or the joints in the creatures' wings.

"I'd say they're sufficiently distracted," Cherche remarked as nearly every slaver in the compound became aware of their presence due to the sounds of battle and began charging en masse.

"As distracted as they're gonna get," Robin agreed. "Let's go." Tharja and Gaius climbed aboard Dean and Minerva, respectively, and the four took off to the now unattended prison.

The girl inside, maybe seventeen winters if Robin had to guess, shrieked in fright as two wyverns landed directly outside of her cell.

"P-please, don't hurt me!" She screeched shrilly.

"Quiet, fool girl," Tharja snapped. Upon seeing her, the girl let out an even higher pitched scream of terror. "Gaius, unlock the door before this idiot causes me permanent hearing loss."

"Righty-o!" Gaius said cheerfully. "Hold tight there, girl, we'll have you out in a flash."

"W-wait...your name is Gaius?" she asked, sounding awed.

"Yep," He responded distractedly as he fiddled with the lock. "Wow, this is some high quality stuff. But yep, I'm Gaius, that's my wife Tharja, and the two on the wyverns are Cherche and Robin."

"Gaius, more lock picking and less talking," Robin said nervously as a couple of the slavers took notice of them and started shouting to their allies. "We're about to have company."

"You're…you're with the Shepherds?" the girl asked quietly.

"Yep," Gaius responded cheerily as he continued his work. "This aint exactly the work I trained to do, but it pays for my sweet tooth, so I can't complain."

"Gaius, unlock that damned door already," Tharja snapped as the slavers drew near. "We're standing out in the open here and there are griffon riders heading this way."

"I see bow knights as well," Cherche said grimly.

"Oh ye of little faith," Gaius chided as the lock finally clicked, and he opened the door and extended a hand to the girl. "Come on, we gotta get out of here. What's your name?"

"N-Noire," the girl stuttered.

"Nice name," Tharja remarked, sounding actually impressed.

"Th-thank you," Noire stuttered, blushing madly.

"Get away from our property!" a bow knight slaver roared as he burst from the trees nearby. He promptly met his end at the end of Robin's lance, however, and Gaius had to tackle Noire out of the way of the body as the horse and rider both went tumbling past. A second later, Tharja growled and flared with dark magic as an arrow from the approaching bow knights skimmed her arm, drawing a deep gash in the flesh.

"You two stay here and protect the hostage from those bow knights! We'll engage the griffon riders in the sky!" Robin commanded, before the two wyvern riders took off. Within seconds the two were entangled in an aerial melee, the snarling and roaring of wyverns mixed with the screeching of griffons and the clashing of steel.

"Yeah, sure, just solo the entire base, why don't you?" Gaius drawled. "Don't mind him Noire, he's actually really…what are you doing!?" he cried in shock. Noire had darted over to the first bow knight's corpse and grabbed his bow and quiver.

" _I am the fire and the fury_!" The woman screeched maniacally as she drew the weapon with a form that would be unfamiliar to anyone but Gaius. Gaius was taken aback by the sheer amount of mad rage present in the timid young girl's voice as well. "All who defy me will perish! Repent! Repent, though it shall save you not! Repent and despair!" She cackled madly as she began loosing arrows at a speed even Virion could not hope to match, and Gaius noted in shock that each and every one found its target, killing them instantly. Within seconds, the eight bow knights that had been charging them were all dead, their terrified mounts bolting off into the forest.

"Holy crap," Gaius whispered as Noire turned her fury skyward, knocking griffons from the sky with a terrifying amount of deadly precision.

"I like her," Tharja said with a dark smile. She joined in with wind spells, and soon the dozen griffon riders were dead as well.

"Nice shooting," Robin remarked lightly as the two wyvern riders touched back down. "The others have the situation at the main camp under control, so we should be safe now, young lady."

"Th-thanks," Noire stuttered, none of her previous violence present in her tone.

"You're not bad, girl," Tharja said approvingly, walking up and eyeing the young woman, who cringed under the scrutiny. "Where'd you learn to wield a bow like that?" Her voice had adopted a very direct, accusatory edge to it.

"M-my father taught me," Noire responded weakly. "H-he's from Ylisse."

"I doubt that," Gaius piped up, as suspicious as his wife. Robin just raised an eyebrow. _They're interrogating a girl who was just held captive?_ He thought incredulously. _I'm not surprised Tharja would, but Gaius? I think I'll let this play out for now. See what they're on about_. "I know that form, and ain't nobody in Archanea or Valm knows that form. Where'd you learn it?"

"I-I told you, m-my father taught me," Noire stuttered, her face turning pale as she rummaged around in her pocket.

"Tell the truth, girl, before I hex it out of you," Tharja growled. "Where. Did. You. Learn. To. Wield. A. Bow?" She asked dangerously, dark magic flaring to life in her hands as she took a slow step forward with each word.

"H-here!" Noire shrieked, thrusting out her hand and opening it. "Please don't curse me again!"

Tharja plucked the object out of Noire's hand. It was a ring. "Nice ring," she remarked, examining it closely. "It looks just like mine. Has similar enchantments on it too. Are you into alchemy? Or is this something…darker?"

"H-hold on a moment…my talisman, where is my talisman…" Noire muttered, reaching into her pocket again, this time clutching something tightly in her hand. As if someone had flicked a switch, Noire's pupils narrowed to pinpricks and an unsettling smile came over her face. "I am blood and thunder!" She roared, startling everyone present. "I am a righteous fury! _I am your future daughter!_ "

Gaius' face turned white, even as Tharja's eyebrow rose."You are trying my patience, girl," she deadpanned.

" _Insolence!_ " Noire snarled with such vehemence that even Tharja took a step back. "I speak the truth! Even this ring hails from the future; a memento of you, my departed mother!"

Tharja's eyes narrowed on the talisman in Noire's hands. "And that bizarre talisman?" She asked curiously.

"Your own handiwork!" Noire proclaimed as she held the talisman forward for Tharja to examine. It was a small thing that looked to be forged from a finger bone, with several small feathers hanging from it and an unmistakable aura of dark magic surrounding it. Robin felt sick just looking at it. "It was wrought to steel the mewling heart of your coward daughter! In its strength did I find blessed relief from grief and solitude! Fear of death and killing it drove from me too, until I became an avatar of retribution! Only by clinging to it have I survived the crushing desolation of a ruined future!" Noire then cackled again, a prominent edge of madness in her voice.

"Oh, give me that," Tharja drawled, before snatching the talisman right out of Noire's outstretched hand.

"W-wait!" Noire cried desperately, lunging for the talisman as Tharja pulled it back. Tharja simply rebuffed her with a weak blast of dark magic, knocking the girl on her rear. "I need that! Without it, I can't-"

"Survive?" Tharja interrupted as she inspected the talisman. "You can, and you will. And not by becoming some 'avatar of retribution'. Just be my…my daughter," She said, a soft smile that was foreign to her futures briefly gracing her face, before it turned once more to the sinister smirk that was her trademark. "Leave the retribution to _me_."

"M-mother…" Noire muttered in shock.

"My, my, my," Tharja muttered in an evil tone as she inspected the talisman. "Future me was good…and very, very _bad_." She then began chuckling darkly.

"Mother, you're frightening me again," Noire muttered in fear as she shakily stood to her feet.

"This little trinket will advance my research quite nicely, and I think Henry would like a look at it too…You have some of my blood, right?" Tharja asked out of the blue. Noire nodded, confused as to where Tharja was going with this. "I'm going to need some of it back when we make camp."

"W-what!?" Noire cried in terror. "N-no! I…" Tharja glared at her in disappointment, and Noire cringed before taking a deep breath. "I mean…bleed me dry, and I shall be as thunder still!" Noire declared madly, even though she no longer had her talisman.

"See?" Tharja said with a smirk. "No daughter of mine needs some mummer's prop to be strong."

"Yeah…ha..haha," Noire laughed weakly.

"Hee hee hee," Tharja chuckled darkly. The two began feeding off of each others' laughter, until they were both cackling madly, even as the others watched on in bewilderment.

"Oh gods," Gaius muttered in horror. "This is just wonderful. My daughter's as mad as her mom."

"Does this mean I'm going to have two shadows now?" Robin wondered absently as the two women continued cackling.

 **AN:**

 **Nah's adorable and Noire's hilarious. Two of my favorite future children, right behind Inigo Montoya you killed my father prepare to die, Batman, and Robin 2.0. Also, that last quote was my first thought at the end of her recruitment chapter the first time I played it lol.**

 **Cherche's story about meeting Minerva is based on her supports with Vaike and Nowi (at least I think it was them; I just know I pulled the details from her supports based off of memory)**

 **Cherche's supports with Robin mention that male wyverns apparently have horns (certain shapes of which Minerva finds attractive), but apparently every single wyvern in Awakening is female, because not a single one of the fuckers has horns. Not even Ashnard's wyvern has horns in the DLC, and his is verifiably a male (and also a dragon laguz but we'll just ignore that). So, I made up some bullshit to explain why potentially male wyverns would not have horns. Robin's wyvern does have horns, basically the same shape as Grima's, only shorter. I also made up some bullshit to explain why Valm has so many fucking Griffon riders in their campaign and virtually no wyverns, despite Gerome's recruitment chapter taking place in Wyvern Valley, the only canonical wyvern roost that is ever mentioned. I mean, I know shoving a million Wyvern Lords in the campaign would be stupidly annoying to fight against and their choosing Griffon Riders was how they opted to balance it, but come on.**


	76. Chapter 76

**Chapter 76**

 **Disowned by Time, The Prodigal Son**

"Never cross a knight," Kjelle snarled as she ripped her lance from the corpse of the man she'd come here to duel, a blackheart by the name of cassius, as the Shepherds finished mopping up the man's "seconds".

"Great job, Kjelle," Robin congratulated as he sheathed his sword. "You've got a hell of a lot of skill with that lance; you could give Sully a run for her money."

To his surprise and suspicion, her face turned pale upon mentioning the Woman To End All Men. "Th-thank you, sir," Kjelle stuttered out. "It is an honor to be compared to Mo-to such a famous knight." She glanced towards the woman, who was kicking one body off of her sword in her right hand, and another off of the lance in her left.

"You're one of Lucina's friends, aren't you?" Robin asked dryly.

Kjelle's eyes widened at that, and Robin smirked. "You know about Lucina?" She asked, awestruck. "Then that means…"

"I know you're from the future, yes," Robin said with a chuckle. "And judging by your reaction to Sully's name, I'm going to guess you're her daughter. If you know two young women by the names of Noire and Nah, they're outside watching our mounts."

"You've found others!?" Kjelle cried joyously. "Oh, thank the gods! I've been here for a few months now, and I haven't seen or heard anything about them! I'd feared the worst!"

"They are still very much alive," Robin assured her. "But they can wait for a bit; I think you should go speak to your mother."

"R-right," Kjelle said, all of her previous confidence evaporating. "I'll…I'll do that." She then hesitantly trudged off toward where Sully had dismounted and was hugging her husband, both of them covered in blood and not giving a hoot.

"Virion!" Robin shouted with a grin on his face. "You owe me fifty gold!" He'd bet Virion that they'd find Sully and Donnel's child, and the archer had taken the bet.

"What!?" Virion cried, before turning to see Kjelle being embraced by both Donnel and Sully. "Blast and damnation!" Robin laughed raucously at his friend's anger. "Zis is ludicrous! What are ze odds of finding ze children of all of ze Shepherds we brought with us!?"

"Good enough to gamble on," Robin responded cheekily as Virion simply tossed his coin purse to him. Robin greedily emptied its contents into his own before tossing the now-empty purse back to him. "Gods, I love that my luck is finally turning around!"

"Or zat mine is simply zat horrible," Virion grumbled. "Truly, fate has it out for ze Archest of Archers."

"I did warn you not to take the bet, milord," Cherche told him with a laugh as she walked over. "Robin had a strange look in his eye as he observed the slavers' records, and I suspected he knew more than he let on."

"It was just an educated guess," Robin said modestly. "I mean, Risen followed Lucina back, so Risen being present at Nah's location made sense. Noire was captured around the location of the last stop on our little field trip, so it makes sense that there are Risen there as well. And there was a report of Risen in this area a few months ago, before a 'brave knight' slew them all nearly single-handed. When I heard that that same knight had bull-headedly challenged a known murderer to an 'honorable' duel at a remote location, I figured that if it was another future child, it would have to be the child of one of the more bull-headed, honorable Shepherds. Namely, Sully."

"I still think zat zis is ridiculous," Virion grumbled, though he could obviously see Robin's logic.

"Ridiculous or not, I _finally_ win a bet worth more than five gold!" Robin said cheerily. "Now, all that remains is to head to these nearby 'Ruins of Time' and destroy the Risen infesting it, before we return to Port Ferox and give Lucina some good news for once in her life."

"What would you bet zat ze others 'ave found children of zeir own on zeir missions?" Virion mused dryly.

"I would bet absolutely nothing against it," Robin said with a grin. "Now, let's get a move on. I'm tired of wandering around in the Feroxi wilderness, and I want to get back to a warm bed."

000

"So, this is where you arrived, Noire?" Robin asked as they observed the Ruins of Time in the basin below them. Nobody knew exactly where the name had come from, or the story behind the place. It was generally given a wide berth by the Feroxi, however; too many strange tales of people disappearing for weeks, months, or even years only to claim they'd been in there for hours. Legend had it that a powerful artifact of Naga in there was warping time or something, but Robin put little stock in legends, especially with so little evidence. No, the only things of a magical origin here were Risen outside the ruins, milling about aimlessly as Risen were wont to do when lacking a target to destroy.

"N-no," Noire said. "I appeared a little ways southwest of here, but I was running from the Risen when I was captured here…right on this very spot."

Robin hummed thoughtfully. "Well, if the Risen didn't see your kidnappers, then it makes sense that they cut off the chase here. Though why haven't they attacked the nearby town?"

"I don't know," Noire said nervously. "I managed to kill one of the big ones while they were chasing me, their leader I think. That's how I ended up losing them. Maybe without their leader, they lack direction?"

"Well, whatever their reasons for sticking around here, we're not going to give them the opportunity to attack the town in the future," Robin announced, before turning back to the others. "Shepherds, advance!"

000

"Come now, you obstinate lizard, you were never this stubborn before!" the young man grunted, pulling as hard as he could at the grizzled old wyvern's reins and failing to even make its head move forward. All he succeeded in doing was nearly falling on his rear due to the slimy wetness of the stone beneath his feet. The ruins they found themselves within were dark and decrepit, with pools of water gathering in the recesses of the floor. "There are Risen about, and we cannot tarry here!" The wyvern simply snorted in response. "I know that we had that little…misunderstanding before, but surely you can see why I acted the way I did?" The wyvern simply shook its head, pulling the reins from the young man's hands and snorting derisively again. Before the young man could try to argue with the beast again, however, the wyvern's head cocked, as if hearing something. The young man focused his own hearing; he could hear the clashing of steel echoing throughout the ruins.

"My friends, most likely," he mused aloud, turning back to the wyvern. "We need to move, lizard. They will not attack me, but given the recent…scuffle, I cannot guarantee the same for you." The wyvern roared challengingly in response, causing the young man to cover his ears desperately. "Are you _trying_ to give away our position?" the young man hissed angrily.

"Dean," a woman's voice moaned blearily from atop the wyvern, "keep it down, will you? I'm trying to sleep."

 _She's awake,_ the young man thought with relief. _Maybe she can see reason._ "Young lady?" the young man called hopefully.

The voice's owner shot upright immediately upon hearing the strange voice, pulling a lance from its holster at the wyvern's saddle and a spell flaring to life in her off hand. _She's certainly rather quick on the draw._ Thomas noted she had a rather comely face, with shoulder length brown hair and matching eyes, and she wore a black coat decorated with purple markings and gold trim. He was definitely correct in his prior assertion when he'd first seen her: he knew this woman. _It is as Lucina and Gerome feared. But why…_ "Who are you?" She asked fearfully. The wyvern, Dean apparently, picked up on his rider's distress and backed up a couple of steps, hissing at Thomas warningly.

 _Does she…not remember how we got here?_ Thomas wondered as she stared at him, her face a mixture between fear and suspicion, but not the hostility he expected. _Perhaps I can convince her to see reason now._

"My name is Thomas, milady," the young man responded, bowing low at the hip. "I serve Exalt Lucina. You know her, yes?"

"Who…what?" the woman asked, clearly disoriented. "Who is 'Lucina'? Who are you? Where's Dad?"

"I know not where your father is, milady, but I offer my aid to you," Thomas responded cautiously. _Does she remember nothing at all?_ he wondered as she stared at him with a mixture of fear and suspicion. Two particularly loud roars sounded in the halls behind them; wyverns, Thomas realized. But he only knew one wyvern rider besides the woman in front of him, so if there was more than one… _Grimleal,_ he realized warily. _They're probably here for her,_ he decided. _But if she doesn't remember anything, then perhaps…well, it's worth a shot_. "It is not safe here, milady," Thomas urged. "The servants of the Fell Dragon pursue us. I have tried to get your mount to follow me to safety, but he refuses to budge."

"Because he's not an idiot," the woman countered suspiciously. "I don't know what 'Fell Dragon' you're talking about, but I'd be a fool to trust a stranger so implicitly."

"True," Thomas admitted. "But you either trust me, or you trust that these Grimleal mean you no harm. If worse comes to worst, and I betray you for some reason, you are more than capable of ending my life and meeting with the Grimleal on your own. If the Grimleal are hostile as I suspect, however, you will have need of my mace and my magic."

The young woman glared at him suspiciously, before sighing and nodding. "Good point," she grumbled reluctantly as she lowered her lance and dispelled her magic. "Very well, Thomas, my name is Morgan. First we fight off these 'Grimleal', then we get out of…wherever we are, then we go find Dad." Dean craned his neck back at his rider in disbelief, but she was too busy starting at Thomas to notice.

"I heard the roar this way!" a voice called. "Spread out in groups of at least two in a search pattern! Find the source, but only attack if you're attacked first!"

"Dad?" Morgan spoke up hopefully, causing Thomas to turn to the entrance with dread. _But her father is…oh no,_ he thought, feeling an icy spike of fear grip his body. Any sane man would be feeling fear in his situation.

"No, damn it Vaike, don't drink the water you lummox!" the voice shouted in exasperation. "Naga knows how long it's been sitting there, it's probably full of diseases!" _Did…did he say "Vaike"? But he's…dead…_

"Dad!" Morgan cheered happily. Before Thomas could say a word, Dean bounded forward, roaring in happiness.

000

"There, that room!" Robin called out, urging Dean forward toward the room they'd just heard the roaring from. They were just approaching the entrance to the door, however, when a black blur burst from the darkness and bowled into him and Dean.

"Dad!" a young woman's voice shouted happily, before he was knocked clear from his saddle. He hit the ground hard, the weight of the person on top of him making his impact hurt all the more. Dean yelped in surprise as he was bowled over by another wyvern.

"Gods," Robin groaned in pain as the person wrapped her arms around him. He heard the wyverns hissing angrily at each other now. _That's one hell of a tactical entrance,_ he thought, slightly dazed from his head hitting the stone floor. _Okay, we're under attack. I need to get this woman off of me, get to my feet and-_

"Dad, I'm so glad to see you're alright!" the young woman said into his chest, freezing his blood immediately. _What did she just say?_ She pulled back from him, smiling brilliantly, and Robin practically fainted; this young woman looked like a shorter, feminine version of him, right down to the coat she wore. The only differences between them were that she had a more feminine jawline than him, and her hair (that was the exact same color as his) reached her shoulders whereas he kept his only a few inches long. _W…huh?_ He thought in utter disbelief.

"Good gods, the air in these stuffy ruins must agree with you," the woman said cheerfully as she pulled a now-dumbfounded Robin to his feet and began brushing some of the dust off of his coat nonchalantly. "You look…well, almost twenty years younger! Hey, why'd you shave? I mean, I'm not complaining because you don't look like such a vagabond, but you never shaved that scraggly thing before."

Robin, however, could do nothing but stare at the girl for a full ten seconds. "What?" he asked weakly. His mind was full of static, and this whirlwind of energy in human form was not helping matters.

"Dad, are you alright?" the girl asked. Robin's mind was once again thrown into disarray when she called him that. "Oh, gods, I didn't give you a head injury when I knocked you off of…off of…" The girl turned back to where Dean was now standing across from and snarling at another, more grizzled and heavily scarred wyvern…a future Dean, Robin realized numbly. "Why are there two Deans?" the girl asked, sounding just as confused as he now was.

"Whoa now," Robin said cautiously, gently prying the girl's hands off of him and taking a step back. "Let's slow down, back to square one: what did you call me?"

"Uh, I called you 'Dad', cause you're my dad," she said in a tone like she was patiently explaining something to a small child. "And I'm Morgan. You know, love of your life, 'Daddy's Little Girl', all that good stuff? Ring any bells? I know you can be scatter-brained sometimes, but to forget your own daughter? Really?"

"You're my…my…" Robin said suddenly feeling quite dizzy and deciding to plop down onto his arse. "Someone bring me an ale."

"But you gave up drinking!" Morgan exclaimed in shock. "Mom will be so mad when…when…oh gods," she realized, her pupils narrowing in terror. "I don't…I don't remember Mom! I… I don't remember anything! Nothing but you and Dean! What's happening!?" She shouted in a panic, clutching herself and starting to shake.

Robin didn't really know what possessed him to rush forward and hold Morgan, but he did it nonetheless. "It's okay, Morgan," Robin said soothingly as she hyperventilated. "You just have amnesia. Don't try to force it, it won't help, it'll just give you killer migraines. I had the same thing happen to me once. Chrom found me unconscious in a field without memory, you know."

To his surprise, Morgan's terrified trembling stopped and she broke into outright laughter. "Oh gods, that's great!" she chortled.

"…What?" Robin asked, releasing her as she continued to laugh. "What's great about not having any memories!?"

"No, it's not that! You were found unconscious and without memory," Morgan explained, "And Thomas found me here, unconscious and without memory. What are the odds?"

"Wait, hold up," Kjelle spoke up suddenly, striding forward while looking at Morgan disbelievingly and…suspiciously? Robin suddenly felt a surge of violent protectiveness for Morgan as he thought of the idea of someone being suspicious of her. He wasn't really sure why. _Paternal instinct,_ his subconscious supplied unhelpfully. "Did you say _Thomas_?"

"Oh, hi there knight lady, do you know him?" Morgan asked politely.

"Indeed they do, Morgan," a new voice said. The people present all turned to the doorway Morgan had barreled out from to see a young man dressed in some dented and dirty foreign-styled plate mail, a mace at his belt and an incredibly weathered kite shield on his arm. He had rough hewn features that seemed almost familiar to Robin, and straw-colored hair that was kept close-shorn. He also had a bit of stubble on his chin, but nothing that could be called a beard.

" _Thomas!?_ " Kjelle, Nah, and Noire all exclaimed simultaneously.

"B-but you went missing months ago!" Noire said in shock.

"The others said you stayed behind to pursue the enemy leader while they fled!" Nah added, staring at him in amazement.

"Where in the nine hells have you been, soldier!?" Kjelle barked, in an excellent impersonation of Sully's 'drill sergeant' voice.

"Months?" Thomas questioned in turn, frowning. That frown sent alarm bells ringing in Robin's mind, but the fact that he was standing next to his own _holy crap I have a daughter_ meant that his mind was nowhere capable of discerning exactly what set those alarms off. "It has been merely a few hours since I was separated from the others."

Another alarm bell rung, but this time Robin was able to make sense of it. "We need to get out of here," Robin announced, turning everyone's gazes towards him. "Legends say this place is capable of warping time. While I normally wouldn't put much stock in it, this little discrepancy is too coincidental to just brush off. Let's get back to the entrance in case this place somehow warps time with us inside of it. Maybe you kids are used to time traveling, but I sure as hells am not. We can figure out this mess when we get out there. Sound good?"

"Very well, sir," Thomas said with a bow, though he didn't break his scrutinizing and almost suspicious gaze. "I for one will be glad to exit these infernal ruins. Lead the way."

"Yeah, lead on Dad!" Morgan said cheerily, before jumping atop Dean. The wrong Dean; the present version of him. As such, the wyvern started shaking around violently, unused to and unwilling to have a strange rider on him.

"Wah! Sorry!" Morgan stated as she deftly jumped from his back, and landing next to her own version of Dean. "I didn't mean to startle you, boy!" she said remorsefully to a growling Dean, before pulling a strip of meat out of her bag. "Will some bear jerky make it up to you?" Dean's head perked up hopefully and she tossed the meat to him. Present-Dean greedily snapped it out of the air, chewing it happily before swallowing. She then reached down and scratched him right behind his jaw, his favorite spot, and his tail began beating the ground happily.

"Well, if zat does not prove she is your daughter," Virion remarked lightly from beside a dumbfounded Robin, "Zen nothing else will."

"Yeah," Robin remarked numbly as Morgan continued petting Dean, who crooned happily. Her own Dean grumbled jealously, and she laughed before giving him a slice of jerky too, and petting him in exactly the same way. _My daughter._

000

"Wow," Morgan breathed as the Shepherds marched back towards Port Ferox. Robin had noted with great concern that night had somehow already fallen, despite it being the early morning when they'd arrived at the Ruins of Time, and that the moon had apparently advanced a few days. They were barely in there for twenty minutes. That seriously alarmed Robin, but it was drowned out by the fact that _holy crap I have a daughter_. "That's…a lot to take in."

"You're telling me," Robin said wryly. He'd just explained everything to Morgan; his life story (short as it was with no memories beyond two years ago) and Lucina's story about travelling to the past with friends. "I lived it, and I can't even make sense of it all sometimes."

"So, my future is destroyed?" Morgan asked quietly, frowning morosely.

"Unfortunately," Robin sighed. "But it _won't_ happen again."

"Of course it won't," Morgan said cheerily, the frown evaporating like a snowflake in Plegia. "We have _you_ leading the charge. I don't even know how it happened the first time; there's no way anyone could beat you fair and square!"

Robin's face practically split from his grin, and Morgan had one to match, and the sight melted his heart. Morgan had made it very clear, very quickly that she absolutely idolized him and the thought provoked a feeling of warmth in his chest that he couldn't quite describe. Is this what Chrom felt whenever he looked at Lucina? If so, he could understand the endless and occasionally annoying proclamations about how proud he was of his daughter. He'd probably be doing it himself very shortly.

"Anyone can be beaten, Morgan," Robin said, "even me. But this time, we know what's coming, and we know how to stop it. 'Forewarned is forearmed', and boy are we forewarned."

"Yeah, Walhart and Grima won't know what hit them!" Morgan cheered, as Robin's heart practically burst with warmth. _Gods, she's so optimistic._

"They sure won't," Robin said, before his grin faded. "So…where did you meet this Thomas fellow?"

"In the ruins, about a minute before we found you," Morgan said with a shrug. "He's the one who woke me up. He thought you guys were Grimleal, and was trying to get Dean to follow him to safety. To be honest, I don't know anything about him, other than that he's well spoken and kind of cute."

Robin ignored the feeling of protective violence that surged in his chest upon hearing his daughter call a boy "cute". "You really don't know anything about him?" Robin asked. Every time he looked at the boy he felt some overwhelming surge of familiarity, though he still couldn't place it.

"Nope," Morgan responded. "I'd ask Kjelle or Nah or Noire; they clearly know him better than the rest of us."

"Yeah, and their lips are sealed," Robin groused. He'd tried to get answers from the three other girls, but none of them had said a word. They were still a bit jarred from the ordeal in the ruins, and Robin noticed all of them looking at Morgan warily. _Why are they so suspicious?_ "I think I'm going to go speak to him myself."

"Oh, alright," Morgan said with a smile. "Want me to go get him for you?"

"That would be great, thanks Morgan," Robin responded with a smile.

"Cherche wanted to talk to me about my Dean, and she's behind them in formation anyway, so it all works out," Morgan responded cheerily. "See you in a bit Dad!" With that, she urged her Dean into the air and turned about, shouting down to Thomas as she passed overhead. A second later, the young man was walking up to him.

"You wished to speak to me, Sir Robin?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, and if you call me 'sir' again, I'm feeding you to my wyvern," Robin responded in a joking tone of voice. "I work for a living, and I will not tolerate such disrespect!"

"My apologies, Robin," Thomas responded with a smirk. "In our time, you were a Duke, but perhaps you have not been knighted yet. What is it that you wished to discuss?"

"You," Robin said shortly, his grin fading as he settled into what Nowi called his "no-fun-allowed-super-serious-tough-guy" demeanor. He also really didn't like the idea that he was supposed to be a Duke. Thomas hadn't won himself any points by dropping that bombshell. _Thank the gods for this time travel business, I'd probably hang myself if I had to actually be a part of the Ylissean government_. "Where are you from?"

"I'm…from Ylisse?" Thomas replied, nonplussed.

"Right," Robin said in a clearly disbelieving tone as he searched the man's frustratingly familiar face. "Who are your parents?"

"My father is a lesser noble connected to House Grant," Thomas replied with a stern expression, "and my mother was a seamstress. They are both long dead, now, and given that you've apparently spent enough time around my friends to know they've all suffered the same fate, I'm sure you will understand my reluctance to discuss them further. Speak plainly, tactician; why are you scrutinizing me so?"

"You're familiar to me, and for the life of me I can't figure out why," Robin responded honestly. "I'm just trying to figure it out. I'm not trying to be hostile, it's just a bit frustrating."

"I understand," Thomas said. "I am afraid I cannot help you, however; I joined the army as a squire when I was but a boy of twelve, and came into the direct service of Exalt Lucina a short few months after. The rest of my life story is incredibly boring and typical of a soldier, and I doubt there are any more details that can be of assistance to you."

Something about Thomas' story continued ringing those alarm bells, but to Robin's frustration, he still couldn't figure it out. "Alright, thanks Thomas," Robin sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for any apparent suspicion. I don't doubt your character, just trying to figure out why you're so damned familiar."

"It is no problem, Robin," Thomas said with a smile. "If there is nothing else you require of me, then I will return to Kjelle; I was speaking with her about the events that transpired in my absence. I'm still having trouble digesting this whole 'time-travel' business…"

"You and me both," Robin said with a weak laugh. "Go on ahead. We'll be back in Port Ferox by tomorrow, and I've still got to figure out how to coordinate the Plegian Navy, the Ylissean and Feroxi armies, and the Hironeiden Army."

Thomas stopped in his tracks at that last name, prompting Robin to stop himself. He looked down to see Thomas with an unreadable expression on his face. "What did you just say?" Thomas asked quietly.

"Yeah, this is gonna sound a little farfetched," Robin said with a grin, "but apparently that big ol' island south of Ylisse has a gateway to another world on it. It's a long, long story, but suffice it to say that Chrom is…well, I wouldn't say 'friends', but allies with their King, a man by the name of Gerald. He's aiding us against Valm."

"I see," Thomas said stiffly. "A strange tale indeed, Robin. I…I look forward to meeting these otherworldly allies of ours. Good day." And with that, Thomas turned and walked away, a tad stiff but otherwise seemingly unfazed.

Robin, however just blinked. _What's gotten into him?_ He wondered.

 **AN:**

 **Morgan's such a fucking sweetheart, and her hero-worship of her dad is wholesome as fuck. I want to hug her to death half the time.**

 **Sorry for skipping most of Kjelle's recruitment chapter, but I couldn't figure out a good way to write it.**

 **Also**

 **WHO COULD THIS THOMAS GUY POSSIBLY BE? HMMMMMMMMMM**


	77. Chapter 77

**Chapter 77**

 **Reunion**

"Alright, if that's all, then this meeting is-"

"Milord," Frederick spoke up, interrupting Chrom. "The guards on the edge of town have spotted Robin and the others returning from their own mission, much later than scheduled…with five extra soldiers. A wyvern rider, two knights, an archer, and a young girl."

Lucina's gaze lit up hopefully as her mind assigned names to those descriptions. "Do you think…"

"That we found more of your friends, milady?" Frederick asked with a smile. He'd somehow stumbled upon _his own son_ while running down some rampant mercenaries. Stahl had found a young mage by the name of Laurent who was so obviously Miriel's child that Stahl had almost thought it was Miriel initially, and Cordelia had found a red-headed, twin-tailed young firebrand by the name of Severa. It had warmed Frederick's heart to see the elated expression on his lady's face when they'd reunited. "I would not doubt it. Though there are only five extra people with their group, any one of them, or all of them, might be your missing friends." As if to accentuate his statement a pair of thumps resonated through the building; Robin had converted the now-roofless second floor into a landing zone of sorts, for easier access to the building while he was flying on Dean. But there were a pair of thumps; someone else was with him, someone mounted. Cherche, perhaps? The assembled leaders of the Allied Army looked up to the top of the stairs curiously as the door was quite loudly kicked open, revealing Robin.

Chrom's brow furrowed, however, when he noticed something was off. Did he look…shorter and had he grown his hair out while they were gone?

"Hi guys!" A young woman who was most definitely _not_ Robin greeted cheerily. "I'm Morgan! My dad will be along shortly once he feeds Dean and…Dean. We really need to come up with a way to tell the two apart…"

" _Morgan!?_ " Lucina shouted in shock. Chrom's mind was blank. _Did she just say…her Dad? As in Robin!?_

"Oh, you must be Lucina!" Morgan said, her eyes lighting up. "Everyone says such good things about you! I mean, I can't remember anything about you, but you must have met me before if you're reacting like that. So, uh, hi, I guess?"

"You know her, Lucina?" Chrom asked curiously, attempting to come to grips with the absolutely ridiculous idea of Robin settling down and having children.

"Yes, she's…she's Robin's daughter," Lucina said in awe, practically flooring Chrom as it was confirmed. "She…disappeared years before we departed our timeline. We thought her to be dead…"

"Nope, still alive and kicking," Morgan responded cheerily. "Can't remember anything but Dad and Dean, though, so sorry for…well, not knowing you back, I guess."

"You have amnesia?" Chrom asked, a grin coming to his face.

"I know, right!?" Morgan laughed. "Like father, like daughter! Dad was a little less amused, but I still think it's funny!"

"Yeah, a giant laugh riot," Robin said as he squeezed past Morgan. "Get the laughter out of your system, Chrom, so we can move on with this. Lucina, if the names Nah, Kjelle, Noire, and Thomas mean anything to you, we found them too."

"You found…oh gods," Lucina muttered, her face turning pale. She shot a glance to Walter, who was now staring quite pointedly in her direction, his brow furrowed.

Before Walter could voice the obvious inquiry on his mind, however, the door to the harbormaster's office opened, and in strode all of the most recently discovered children, with a young, blonde haired boy in the lead.

"Noire, Nah, Knight Kjelle, and Paladin Thomas reporting for duty, Exalt Luc…" Thomas trailed off as his eyes trailed around the room, and his eyes settled on one figure in particular. "General Kendal!?" Thomas cried incredulously.

"Thomas!?" Kendal shouted back, just as disbelieving.

Thomas' shock quickly evaporated, and he put his right fist over his heart; Robin recognized it as the Ecclesian military salute Walter had used to give Chrom when he first joined the Shepherds. _Wait, they know each other…?_ "It will take more than some Encablossan monstrosities to put an end to this soldier of God, General," Thomas said with a confident grin.

"Thomas?" a weak voice sounded from his left, where Thomas hadn't looked yet. Thomas' face turned pale as he turned to regard the speaker.

"Father," Thomas whispered as he made eye contact with his father.

"You…I thought you had died," Walter said hoarsely.

"As I did you," Thomas responded disbelievingly. "I saw it myself."

"No, I…I was transported here, two years ago now," Walter explained numbly as he stumbled forward. Once he was in arm's reach, he lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Thomas, who stiffened up in his embrace. "I'm so happy you're safe, Thomas. You've grown so strong…I'm so sorry…"

Robin's jaw dropped when Thomas finally replied. "Your behavior is unbecoming, Captain," came Thomas' cold rebuke. "Show some decorum in front of your peers."

Walter reeled back as if physically struck, and the rest of the room was deafeningly silent. "Thomas?" Walter inquired disbelievingly.

"'There is no such thing as father and son in war'," Thomas said in an icy tone, causing Walter to flinch.

"Thomas!" Kendal barked sharply as Walter visibly floundered. "There is no call for this!"

"Were those not his own words to me?" Thomas rebuked just as sharply. _Walter said…what!?_ Robin thought in disbelief. "If a man cannot live by his own words, then he is not a man."

"Whoa, I'm missing something here," Robin spoke up, glancing between the two. The familiarity made sense now; Robin had no doubt that Walter had looked just like Thomas when he was his age. But where was this hostility coming from?

"Has he really not confessed to his crimes, despite being in such good graces with the Exalt that he sits in on his war council?" Thomas asked. "Somehow, I'm not surprised. The father I knew would have at least admitted to his failures, but I suppose that man died long ago…very well, allow me to elucidate you all; my father is a war criminal, an apostate, and a traitor." Walter visibly winced as Thomas spoke each label. "He is directly responsible for thousands of innocent deaths." he finished bitterly.

"We know of your father's past, Thomas," Chrom said slowly, "but that's-"

"If you know of the crimes he has committed, then why is he not in irons?" Thomas asked incredulously and furiously as Phila wrapped her arms around a now-shaking Walter. "Why has he not been executed!? The fact that General Gerald is here and he hasn't killed the man is mind boggling in its own right, let alone among the presence of so many morally righteous people! He has murdered hundreds of civilians by his own hands! He summoned a demon that nearly destroyed Bersia! Tens of thousands died in the days following Encablossa's summoning! And you would seek his counsel regardless!?" he practically screamed. Robin was taken aback by the sheer amount of incredulous rage Thomas was expressing.

"Thomas, that's enough!" Kendal shouted angrily as Walter stared at the ground, his fists clenched and shoulders shaking. "Your father is the General of the Ylissean Army, and if nothing else, you will show him basic military respect! And the same applies to the King of Ylisse!"

"My father is _dead,_ General Kendal!" Thomas shouted back. "The man died when my mother did. This cold, empty shell before us is nothing but an apparition."

"You go beyond yourself!" Kendal roared, sounding positively enraged now.

"Your defense of him is misguided sentimentality for an old friendship, and nothing more," Thomas spat, before turning to Lucina. "This is getting out of hand, milady; perhaps you might dismiss me before things take a turn for the worst?"

"Thomas," Lucina said softly, her face pale. "I know you have issues with your father, but-"

"Milady, I will gladly discuss this with you later, but this is neither the time nor the place," Thomas interrupted insistently, before glaring at his father. "Besides; I grow tired of being in the presence of this traitor."

"Thomas," Phila said as she held a violently shaking Walter, "your father-"

"I don't care," Thomas interrupted again. Robin was getting a little peeved at the casual disrespect he was showing everyone who tried to defend Walter in even a roundabout way. "I care nothing for the worthless slime you stand beside. Milady, would you _please_ dismiss me?" Thomas pleaded impatiently.

"Fine," Lucina sighed. "I will meet you at the tavern down the street when we've finished here."

"Very well milady," Thomas said with a salute, before turning to the others. "I apologize for…all of this," he said to the group at large. "This was an inappropriate forum for family matters, and I swear to you all that this will not happen again." After a polite bow, Thomas turned and strode out of the building, gently shouldering past a dumbfounded Kjelle in the process.

"Well, that was…entertaining," Morene spoke up in the wake of Thomas' departure.

"Shut _up_ Morene," Ilfa hissed angrily as Walter struggled to breathe. "Your input is not required for every matter, and in this particular instance, it is not wanted. I believe now would be a good time to adjourn, right King Chrom?"

"You're right, Queen Ilfa," Chrom said grimly, still staring at where Thomas had departed. "Everyone's dismissed. And be quick about it," he added softly, noting how Walter barely seemed able to stand at this point.

Robin turned to Morgan to leave with her, only to see tears streaming down her face.

"Morgan, sweetheart," Robin asked quietly, gripping her shoulders, "are you alright?"

"Dad, that was…that was…" Morgan said, before sobbing once. "How could anyone say stuff like that about their own father?" She then broke down fully into sobs, and Robin quickly wrapped his arms around her.

"I don't know, sweetheart," Robin muttered. "Come on, let's get out of here and give General Lennart some space," he added as he saw Walter finally collapse to the floor as the last of the war council departed, his face looking much like Morgan's own.

000

"I apologize for my behavior milady," Thomas said immediately when Lucina sat down across from him a couple hours later. "Or rather, I regret the time and place; I do not regret what I said."

"I always respected your boundaries, Thomas," Lucina responded quietly. "You said you did not like your father, and we left it at that."

"But now, given what just happened, you wish to know more," Thomas finished for her, and Lucina nodded. "Well, it's quite simple, really. Aside from his reprehensible actions themselves, I suppose my ire comes from his abandoning me."

"What do you mean by that?" Lucina asked.

"My mother died when I was seven," Thomas explained. "Illness took her in the winter. My father could not handle raising me alone; he used his leverage as a noble and a Patriarchal Emissary to get me into the Academy of Magic early. At the time, I did not fathom that my father simply wished to be rid of me; I thought he was trying to provide something for me to focus on instead of my grief, and in truth I was grateful for the distraction. As I attended the Academy, he threw himself into his work with the Emissaries. We saw each other only rarely after that. I spent five years out of the required six at the Academy, and was quite close to graduating early, when he made the decision that made me realize he didn't want me…"

000

"Father!" Thomas cried happily as he burst into the tavern to see his father back from his mission on the Hironeiden border. He looked distracted, ill; he had likely taken to brooding over Mother again. Thomas could relate; it had been five years, and still he thought of her almost daily. It was as if a hole had been ripped from each of their hearts, and there was no replacing it.

"Thomas, wait there," his father replied shortly, "I'm in the middle of a talk." Thomas' face fell, but he obeyed. _I haven't seen him in months…_ He and General Kendal continued talking for a bit, before he stood up and walked over to Thomas.

"I hear you are doing well in your classes," his father said, a rare smile gracing his features as Kendal strode past, seeming uneasy.

"Yes, Father," Thomas said proudly. "I am doing my best. I want to follow in your footsteps."

His father's face, however, fell at that. He looked almost…pained for a second. "You can make decisions like that when you're older," Walter said firmly.

"But Father," Thomas said desperately, "I want to be like you! I want-"

"Thomas, listen to me," his father interrupted sharply, cutting Thomas' protests off. "I have decided to squire you to Sir Kendal."

Thomas was dumbfounded. _But…Sir Kendal will be departing for the Holy Ground shortly with the Reclamation Army,_ Thomas thought numbly. _He is going to war…I'm only twelve! I can't go to war!_ "Are…are you serious, Father?" Thomas asked disbelievingly.

"I am, Thomas," Walter said gravely. "I will treat you as any other soldier in public from now on. There is no such thing as father and son in war."

"I…" Thomas began protesting, only for the stern look on his father's face to crush any attempt he might have made. _He…he doesn't want me,_ Thomas realized, as a sharp pain blossomed in his chest and his eyes began to sting. _He means for me to die in this war._ "Yes, Father," he said dejectedly.

"Good," Walter said, a sad expression very briefly flitting across his face. "Now, go to him. Follow his orders as you would my own. You will make me proud; I know it."

"I will, Fath- Captain," Thomas said numbly, offering a salute. "I suppose I must go attend to General Kendal now, Captain. Good day."

"Good day, soldier," Walter responded professionally. "May the Lord bless you."

000

"That's…" Lucina trailed off, not knowing how to respond.

"It was only after that that I learned of what my father had done," Thomas said bitterly. "The Greyhampton Massacre shortly before he squired me to Sir Kendal, consorting with the Dark Legion, betraying the Patriarch…the father I knew and admired, the man my mother married, obviously died with her."

"I…I see," Lucina said softly.

"Regardless of my personal feelings, however," Thomas said begrudgingly, "my duty comes first. I will cooperate with him as long as you order me to do so. But I implore you, milady, convince your father to rid himself of mine. He will only succeed in getting all of us killed."

"Your father has done much to strengthen Ylisse, Thomas," Lucina told him. "Regardless of his sins in the past, and of his personal failings, he has strengthened the Ylissean Army to a point not seen since my grandfather's crusade against Plegia. It was his reorganization of the Army and his sponsoring of Miriel's research into gunpowder weapons that allowed us to reign victorious here in Port Ferox."

"And look around us," Thomas said dryly, motioning toward the back half of the tavern that was blown apart. "The port is in shambles; if it returns to its former glory within a decade, I will be highly surprised. My father is only talented at destruction, milady. Such a talent can be useful in certain circumstances, but overall it is dangerous. If you insist on using my father, milady, be wary of him; a fire spell will burn its wielder and his allies as eagerly as the wielder's target, if not tightly controlled. It was the first lesson I was taught in the Academy, and it rings true even now."

"I will keep that in mind, Thomas," Lucina sighed. She knew there was no getting through to him, not at this point.

"That is all I ask, milady," Thomas said. "I also give you my blessing to divulge these details should anyone inquire about the matter; it saves me the effort of explaining it to every busybody in the army. Is there anything else you require of me? I will gladly write a report on how I arrived here, but it is a long tale to retell by mouth, and I am quite tired."

"I have but one question; where did you find Morgan?" She asked, her gaze suspicious.

"In the ruins, milady," Thomas answered stiffly, noting Lucina's tone. "She was lost and without memory, much like her father was apparently found by your own. She looked familiar, and soon I realized that she was the very same little girl who used to follow you around so eagerly, so I opted to speak with her."

"The reason I ask," Lucina stated, "is because when you went missing, Inigo and Owain said you were dueling with a wyvern rider, the Grimleal leader leading their pursuers. He said you were chasing the rider into some ruins when they lost sight of you. Yarne is the only one we have found from that mission, but he remembers much the same, even claiming the rider 'smelled vaguely familiar'…then you show up here in the company of a wyvern rider, a woman long thought dead, with family ties to the Grimleal," she finished pointedly.

"I recall you naming your father's murderer before," Thomas countered instantly, acknowledging Lucina seeing the situation for what it was, "yet he was just in the same room as you, and you did not strike him down."

"That is different," Lucina said heatedly.

"Is it, milady?" Thomas rebutted.

"It _is_ , Thomas," Lucina hissed. "If he dies, then his children will not be born in this timeline, and I have no idea what that will do to the stream of time. He is also still needed for the war. Without him, they would never have come close to winning in our time. Regnier was right about one thing; we have meddled overmuch with time as it is, and I will not change things if it isn't necessary. I will not kill him unless I must. Morgan, however, is not from this time, and is a clear danger to us, especially if she carries some latent curse from the Fell Dragon that will compel her to turn on us. Instead of just worrying about Father's murderer, I have to worry about her as well. Furthermore, if we find Gerome, who _knows_ how he will react when he sees Morgan!"

"Hopefully not as he did when Cynthia and her group discovered Marc," Thomas stated grimly.

Lucina slammed her fist on the table. "Thomas!" she whisper-shouted indignantly, not wanting to pull the attention of the soldiers coming in for a drink. "What has come over you!? You _know_ how much that decision tortured Gerome! That is uncalled for!"

"You are suggesting I should have murdered an amnesiac girl for no good reason, and you claim something has come over _me_?" Thomas retorted. "Morgan does not remember what she did, milady. She may very well have been under the Fell Dragon's thrall; he almost certainly had the opportunity to cast such spells. But just as you will not murder your father's killer unless it is necessary, I will not murder Morgan unless it is necessary. I am not my father; I will not shed innocent blood over 'maybes' and 'what ifs'," he finished hotly.

Lucina glared at him a moment longer, before sighing. "You are right, I suppose," Lucina sighed. "I suppose I got…carried away, worrying about my father's safety. I do not wish ill upon Morgan on her own merits, but by the danger she represents. In truth, I'd rather get to know her… but anything Morgan does will be on your head."

"If she betrays us, I will kill her myself," Thomas said resolutely. "But only _if_. She deserves a chance at redemption."

"Yes, she does," Lucina agreed reluctantly, before staring at Thomas pointedly. "As does your father."

"That man is beyond redemption," Thomas spat, averting his gaze to the table.

"Nobody is beyond Naga's grace," Lucina countered softly, "and I remember you telling me much the same of your own God."

"If anybody is, it's him," Thomas growled. "I mean no disrespect, milady, but I really have no desire to discuss my father further. It is a painful subject, and discussing it will not fix anything. Can we please let it be, so long as it does not affect my duties?"

Lucina sighed. "I suppose so," she said. "And for what it's worth, Thomas, I'm glad to have you back. Your presence was sorely missed after your disappearance. Severa even told me the other day that she missed you, though she would never admit it if you confronted her."

"That firebrand managed to survive your trip through this portal Kjelle spoke of?" Thomas asked, before sighing. "Lord, the woman tries my patience…but I suppose I missed her as well," he finished with a grin.

"You should go find the others," Lucina said gently. "Yarne especially will be relieved to see you alive."

"I suppose I will," Thomas said with a nod, standing up. "Today's events have me rather…alert, now. As tired as I am, I doubt I will be getting much sleep any time soon. Good day, milady."

"Good day, Thomas," Lucina replied, before Thomas saluted and walked out of the tavern. She stared after him for a moment before sighing heavily. She hoped that he would reconcile with his father one day. Before he truly did die, and Thomas no longer had the chance.

 **AN:**

 **Thomas reunites with his dad, and it's…not exactly pleasant. Why would I pass up an opportunity for such delicious drama? In both Kendal's and Walter's campaigns in Heroes and Crusaders, respectively, Walter is an unbelievably large phallus toward Thomas. And that's an understatement. The dialogue above is almost verbatim what Walter says to him in Walter's campaign in Heroes, and in Kendal's campaign in Crusaders Thomas gets bitched at by Walter at the Holy Ground command post for not remembering to be professional in front of the troops, all because Thomas basically just said "hi Dad" with some enthusiasm. Like he doesn't say anything nice to him at all, and it's heartbreaking. And yes, Thomas was only twelve when he was sent off to war. Walter's kind of a tremendous fuckup of a father. The reason I originally decided to make his wife/Thomas' mother dead (besides crossover shipping purposes) is because she is not mentioned at all in KUF, and I HIGHLY doubt if she was alive she'd be okey dokey with sending her son off to get ganked in the middle of Hexter. Even her name was made up by yours truly; I picked something with biblical significance because of the uncanny resemblance the Ecclesian Church bears to the Roman Catholic Church.**

 **Obviously, I'm borrowing extremely heavily from the Future Past DLC for backstory material in this fic. I love that DLC (and so does my friend), it arguably has a better narrative than the main game, and the conversations between the parents and their technically-otherworldly children tugged at my heart strings. Plus, it's actually challenging, and not just because the enemies are damn near maxed out on stats. The situations they put you in are so much better than the "Rout enemy/kill commander for 25 levels" method used in the main game. The whole thing is top notch. I trust that my readers are perceptive enough to piece the story together, but there will be actual explanations later. It won't be too soon, though; after all, we can't have EVERY chapter being an exposition dump lol.**


	78. Chapter 78

**Chapter 78**

 **The Plegian Navy Arrives**

The past month and a half was…tense, in a word. Lucina insisted on bringing Thomas to the war council, claiming that Thomas was sort of a mixture between Robin and Frederick to her; her lieutenant, her tactician, her protector, and a good friend. Robin could understand that, but did he _really_ have to attend every meeting? Lucina had briefed Robin on the duo's issues, and he could understand Thomas' anger. Hells, it was hard not to get angry himself; the thought of doing anything Walter did to Thomas to his own daughter made his stomach turn, and he'd only known her for a month and a half. Frankly, Robin would have preferred it if Thomas and Walter simply had it out again, just to get it out of the bloody way. But no, they both just sat in on the meetings, looking everywhere but at each other, insisting that their duties came first and generally making every meeting feel like a bomb waiting to go off. Any time he tried to broach the subject with either paladin, he would get practically the same response: "Let it go, Robin; it is not your concern until it interferes with our duties."

Robin was torn between irritation and amusement at the irony of Thomas and Walter being so damn similar.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Morgan called out as they took off after the latest meeting. He'd taken to going on flights with Morgan after the meetings as a way for them to spend some time together without Frederick breathing down his neck; in its own way, it was better than his after-meeting ale with Chrom (which he still partook in, of course).

"Three guesses," Robin replied dryly.

"You…you're worried about the situation with Thomas and General Walter?" Morgan guessed, a hopeful expression on her face.

"You got it in one, kid," Robin said with a fond smile. _Gods, she's smarter than I am and clever as a fox to boot. And she's_ my daughter. _Where did all of this damn paternal pride come from!?_ "The two of them insist there won't be any problems, but I'm not too confident."

"I tried talking to Lucina about not having Thomas attend the meetings, but she wouldn't budge," Morgan replied, sounding a bit annoyed. "Speaking of Lucina, I feel like she's…keeping something from me."

Robin raised an eyebrow at her as they soared past the boundaries of town. "What do you mean?"

"I can't really explain it," Morgan replied hesitantly. "I mean, Lucina's being really nice, and she's really patient about my amnesia and everything, but there's these little looks she'll shoot me when she thinks I'm not looking, or sometimes when I ask a question, particularly about the future, she gives me a roundabout answer."

"Well, I can understand the last part," Robin said diplomatically. "From what I gather, some of the future children may not want to be found. If she gives away too much, it might give away who they are if we chance across them."

"No, that's not it," Morgan replied, sounding a bit frustrated. "It's hard to explain…like she avoids things that maybe she thinks will upset me? Or, maybe, she's afraid I'll remember something she doesn't want me to? I dunno, but there's definitely something she's hiding from me specifically."

"Want me to grill it out of her?" Robin offered. "Between Chrom and me, I think we could get the answers you're looking for."

"No, I think I'll get through to her eventually," Morgan answered. "She just doesn't seem to trust me yet, and if you guys go interrogating her, I'll never earn her trust. I understand why she's suspicious of me; I mean, I was basically declared KIA, then I just pop up out of the ether. I don't blame her for her hesitance to trust me, especially if the future's half as bad as Noire was telling me, but…I dunno, it just bothers me. I almost feel like I…wronged her, somehow. She insists that I didn't, but those insistences come a little too quickly, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I know what you're saying," Robin said with a nod.

"It's not just her, either," Morgan muttered, almost too quiet to hear above the wind. "Everyone from the future gives me those same looks, gives me those same hasty assurances that I did nothing wrong. Yarne's particularly bad about it, and he seems ready to bolt from the room every time I enter it. The only one who doesn't act strangely is Thomas, but he's too stoic to get a read off of. He could easily be lying to my face, and I wouldn't be able to tell!"

"Yeah, Thomas and Walter have that in common, among other things," Robin chuckled. "I played poker against Walter once, and lost half a paycheck in the process. Never doing it again."

Morgan laughed at that, and Robin's chest was filled with warmth at the sight of the smile on her face. _Gods, she's the most beautiful thing on this planet. I can't even believe she's mine._ "You really should stop gambling, Dad; even future-you had horrible luck, but you knew when to quit then," Morgan said with a giggle.

"I won fifty gold from Virion," Robin pointed out. "I'm not the worst gambler alive."

"And all of that gold went to repay all of the money you owe other people," Morgan snickered, causing Robin to grimace.

"You know what?" Robin shouted with fake indignity, "that's it! You think I can't win a gamble? You and me, the strategy board, right now! Loser owes the winner their desert rations!"

"But that's not a gamble!' Morgan cried with a petulant expression on her face. "You know I never beat you in the future!"

"Because I knew all of your tricks, probably," Robin countered. "Our last couple of matches were pretty close; the only person who's come that close to beating me is Virion and Walter, and you did it without sacrificing most of your pieces or having decades of experience in war. On the other hand, I don't know any of your strategies, while you know all of mine. Hells, you know the ones I haven't even thought of yet! The odds are even. Come on, Morgan; play a game with your dear old Dad?"

Morgan's obstinate expression slowly but surely morphed into a wide grin. "You're on, old timer!"

"I'm barely any older than you in this timeline!" Robin shouted indignantly as they wheeled Deans Junior and Senior around (they'd decided on that as their way of distinguishing between the two). "You call me old timer, but you have no respect for your…for…wow, that's a lot of ships."

The two had turned around just in time to see the Plegian Navy crest the southern horizon. As far as Robin could see, there were lines upon lines of warships, all flying the black and gold Plegian flag. Even from miles away, they could hear the thousands of men making up the crews of the vessels chanting sea shanties as they worked the sails.

"I've never seen a ship besides those captured Valmese vessels before," Morgan said in awe. "Let alone this many! There must be hundreds!"

"Eight hundred galleons and two hundred transport frigates," Robin rattled off from memory. "You know, Morgan, reading 'one thousand ships' on a piece of paper and seeing them sailing towards you in formation are two incredibly different experiences."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Morgan said, still awestruck. "We're going to go sailing on them?"

"Yes, dear, we are," Robin said with a smile, before a thought occurred to him and his smile was promptly wiped from his face. "However, first we have to _load_ the ships."

000

"Rho Company, get off that ship! You're supposed to be on the next one!" Robin shouted above the chaos below him. A day had passed since the Plegian Navy had arrived, and trying to coordinate the loading of the ships was a nightmare. Apparently Admiral Bahar hadn't gotten the messages he had sent detailing their planned boarding process; as a result, they were doing everything on the fly. Needless to say, it was not going well. He had not only enlisted Morgan's help (which wasn't difficult; she adored him so much that she'd probably shovel cow slop with a huge smile on her face if Robin was doing it with her), but practically every Shepherd with a flying mount or a particularly loud voice (Robin was still amazed that Sully could be clearly heard over everything. Robin knew she could be loud, but _gods_ did that woman have a pair of lungs on her!).

"General Themis, could you please get that cavalry unit loaded so we can get the next ship into dock!?...Yes sir, I know your horses have never been on a ship before, and I know frightened animals are hard to handle. I mean, look at what I'm riding! But we're already hours behind schedule, just please do what you can!" Morgan pleaded.

"Delta Company, I swear to Naga herself, if you don't stop ogling the Yenicheri company and get your arses on that galleon, I am going to come down there and have Dean start eating you all alive until you get the message!" Robin roared. That seemed to do the trick; the young men quickly scampered up the ramp, the Yenicheri company laughing cruelly at their fear.

"Captain Harold, why are you boarding one of the supply ships!?" Frederick barked. "Unless you want your beds to be sacks of flour, I would highly suggest that you remove yourself from that vessel and move back over to the central harbor, where we're loading actual troops!"

"Damn your eyes, Alpha Company!" Sully roared, "Get your bloody arses on that damned ship already! We've got twenty five thousand troops to move and you're holding up the process! The last one aboard is going to be my personal punching bag for the entire voyage!"

"Dad, this is ridiculous!" Morgan cried hopelessly. "There's just _so many_ people!"

"We managed to load five thousand yesterday, and we were even more disorganized then!" Robin shouted back. "We're already a fifth of the way through, sweetheart, and we're going to do even better today! What is it I always say?"

"Positive attitudes lead to positive outcomes," Morgan replied exasperatedly, before consulting her notes and continuing to belt out orders.

"That's the spirit!" Robin shouted cheerily. "Echo Company, I did _not_ shoo Delta away from the Yenicheris just so you could take their place! Get back into bloody formation and get your arses aboard that vessel! Dark Elf Commander, Nachmir wasn't it?...Yes, I'm talking to you!…good gods that woman is stupid, how in the nine hells is she the commander of the Dark Elves' special operations detachment?… _Please_ get your scantily-clad soldiers aboard their bloody vessel so my own idiot soldiers stop gawking at them!" Their response was simply to laugh at him cruelly. "I will remember this, Nachmir! I will remember!"

"Robin!" Cherche called out from his left. "Chrom wishes to see you in the harbormaster's office!"

"Tell him to bugger off!" Robin said flippantly. "If he wants his damned troops loaded sometime before Valm's main fleet arrives, he'll get off my bloody case!"

"He knew you would say that, and told you that if you don't go see him now, he would divulge some sort of secret regarding a bet you made back at the Coliseum?" Cherche responded curiously.

Robin's face went pale. "Damn you, Chrom!" he roared. "Fine! Take over, Morgan, I'll be back as soon as possible!"

"Yeah, sure, I've got this!" Morgan said confidently. "You can count on me, Dad!"

"I know I can, sweetheart!" Robin called fondly, before quickly guiding Dean over to the harbormaster's office.

"I swear to Naga herself, Chrom!" Robin barked as he kicked open the second-story door, "if you don't have a good reason for pulling me away from this nightmare of a boarding operation and extorting me with personal secrets, I'm going to plant my boot so far up your arse that you will taste the bottom of my shoe!"

Chrom simply grinned at Robin's antics, even as the dozens of Plegian officers present in the room stared at Robin in shock. "So, it's going well out there I take it?"

"We're barely managing," Robin huffed, "and every second I spend here is another second that the situation deteriorates. What do you bloody want!?"

"Admiral Bahar is now refusing to load our…countermeasures to the Valmese," Chrom said grimly, gesturing to the grizzled, tan-skinned, shaggy haired Plegian Admiral beside him. "He was unware that the vessels that have already been loaded have them on board, and he doesn't want any more brought on his ships."

"I was on leave when your Shepherds went to rescue Exalt Emmeryn," The admiral spoke up with a low, gravelly voice. "I saw for myself what your…'countermeasures' can do. The substance is highly unstable; your mage detonated it almost by accident! I am not allowing it on my ships, especially with the excess of oil and pitch that my King ordered me to take."

"I do not have _time_ for this!" Robin roared in exasperation. "At least _now_ I know why our sappers are sitting around with their thumbs up their arses instead of actually doing their jobs, claiming that they're 'following orders'! Tell me, Admiral, how good are our chances against the Valmese in a traditional boarding action?"

"Admittedly poor," Admiral Bahar conceded. "But these weapons-"

"I do not give a damn what you think of our weapons!" Robin cut him off angrily. The Admiral scowled, but Robin continued before he could say anything. "You've already made the bloody modifications to the ships, some of the weapons are already loaded, why in the nine hells are you arguing _now_ , of all times!?"

"The ship modifications were ordered by King Validar," Bahar grumbled. "I did not approve of them, and I still do not."

"Well, there you bloody have it!" Robin shouted triumphantly. "Your own King accepts my plan! Unless I'm mistaken, isn't insubordination during a time of war a capital offense in Plegia?"

"Tread lightly, Ylissean," Bahar growled.

"No, forget that!" Robin shouted, causing Bahar to raise an eyebrow. "Every minute we waste on this pointless debate is another second the Valmese Navy has to prepare their full invasion! We do not have _time_ for your objections, Admiral, especially when they countermand your own orders! While you're sitting in here, enjoying your coffee, which by the way is another Bersian invention, the Valmese are preparing to kill us to the last. I get it, you feel like we're stepping on your toes here, but frankly, we can't afford to care. Without these weapons, the Valmese are going to slaughter us in a straight fight. So would you _kindly_ take your bloody pride and shove it up your backside, then order your bloody crew to start loading the weapons!?"

Bahar glared at him for a long time as his subordinates whispered to each other angrily over Robin's blatant disrespect, and Robin even swore that his hand started inching toward the cutlass at his hip. Eventually, though, he growled and huffed, before nodding once.

"Thank you," Robin sighed in relief. "Truly, sincerely, thank you. If only the Ylissean Council was this reasonable."

To his surprise, Admiral Bahar actually laughed at that. "I know the feeling," he mused. "The Emirs are quite obstinate themselves. I do not trust your weapons, tactician, and I expect you to have your own personnel managing them to avoid any accidents, but a man must know when to bend to the winds."

"All you want is some of our own people watching them? Done and done. Our sappers have to go with them to operate them anyway, so they can make themselves useful on the voyage by making sure some sailor doesn't walk into the storage bay with a lit candle," Robin said cheerfully. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got to get back out there before this whole operation descends into irreversible chaos." With that, he turned around and slammed the door behind him as he left.

"I'm sorry about that," Chrom told Admiral Bahar sheepishly. "He's not normally so…direct."

"Crude, more like," Bahar chuckled. "I can respect that, though. He speaks his mind. I play enough games of words and minds with my peers in Plegia; to be addressed so frankly is refreshing, even if he could use a little more tact. Might want to have a word with him about that; the various cultures of Valm all take decorum and tact quite seriously, and from what I read, we plan on trying to ally with those who yet resist the Conqueror. Now that that matter is settled, weren't we discussing which formation we were going to sail in?"

000

"No more, Dad," Morgan groaned from her bed as Robin opened the door to her room in one of the abandoned inns in Port Ferox. "I can't do this anymore. So…many…troops…"

"You're telling me," Robin sighed exhaustedly, collapsing into the singular chair in the room. "but hey, look on the bright side; we now have thirteen thousand, five hundred and twenty eight troops loaded on the ships. We're over halfway there, sweetheart."

"But that means we have another…oh, I dunno, like twelve or thirteen thousand or something to go," Morgan whined. "Don't make me do any more maths, Dad, my brain hurts."

"If this is hard on you, Morgan, you don't have to help," Robin said gently, pulling Morgan's blanket over her.

"And leave you in that mess alone?" Morgan asked incredulously. "I would be the worst daughter ever!"

"You could never _possibly_ be the worst daughter ever," Robin said with a soft smile, "because you are clearly the _best_ daughter ever."

"And you're the best Dad ever," Morgan instantly responded with a grin.

"I try,' Robin said modestly, and the two of them laughed. "Good night, Morgan. Don't be up reading tactical manuals all night like you were last night, either."

"Ugh, I think I learned my lesson today," Morgan groaned tiredly. "Sleep is good," she muttered blearily, clearly barely hanging on to consciousness.

"Sleep is the gods' greatest gift to mankind," Robin chuckled, before kissing his daughter on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Morgan."

"Thanks, Dad," Morgan replied sleepily. "You're the best. What would I do without you?" Within seconds, she drifted off, snoring lightly. She must have gotten that from her mother; Robin didn't snore at all.

Robin stayed behind for a moment, looking at her with a soft smile on his face. He'd only known her for…what, like two months now? And here she was, already the most precious thing in the world to him. He'd tried to convince her to stay behind, even tried dressing it up as asking her to take command of the entire rear detachment that would be protecting Ylisse in the main army's absence, but she'd refused. She'd said she wanted to be with him, and she didn't care if she had to go through all of the nine hells to do it. He'd eventually conceded, but he was still worried. If his daughter had fought in the war against Grima in her time, she couldn't remember it. She couldn't even remember his death. He was almost thankful for that, despite the clear stress her amnesia caused her; the other children were already known to wake up in the night, screaming from nightmares…or probably memories, since they had already lived through the worst nightmare imaginable. But not Morgan. No, she slept as soundly as she was sleeping right now. But this would be her first war that she would remember, and if Lucina's dire predictions were right, it would be brutal, almost as bad as Grima's resurrection. He was so terrified on her account that he lacked the words to properly convey it. He realized that the love he'd so quickly found for her could truly be a double edged sword. If something happened to her, it would kill him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Robin said softly. "We're going to make it through this. Together. Your future won't happen again, and you'll get to enjoy peace. Who knows, maybe you'll even remember who your mother is, and we can find her together. But no matter what happens, Morgan, you'll never have to figure out what you'd do without me. I won't leave you, not again."

 **AN:**

 **I wanted to avoid skipping the loading of the ships, because that's something that Robin would definitely be involved in, but I didn't know how to make the chapter not completely boring. So, I decided to make this a weird father-daughter bonding moment. Morgan's absolutely precious, and I'm honestly struggling to not make every chapter from here on out from Robin's POV just for the opportunity to write more Morgan lol. Maybe I'll just start splitting chapters between a bunch of different perspectives. It'll beef up my word count when I've been trying to keep it 3-4k for the sake of having a standard, but hey, there are worse things to do then write more lol.**


	79. Chapter 79

**Chapter 79**

 **Division**

"Alright," Chrom stated as the attendants of the War Council all turned to him expectantly, early in the morning on the last day of their stay in Port Ferox, "this will be the last meeting of this war council until the Hironeiden Army rejoins us in Rosanne. Directly after this, those who are going on the first voyage are to report to the _Legacy of Berkut_ , or whatever ship they're sailing on, for immediate departure. Does anybody have any concerns, questions, or suggestions to make?"

"I do, King Chrom," Kendal spoke up. "I wish to accompany the Ylissean Army on the first voyage."

"Why?" Gerald spoke up suspiciously. "We need you here, leading the Army."

"You've been a General as long as I have, Your Majesty," Kendal stated amusedly. "Even longer, in fact, if we're taking the time distortion of the Dark Dimension into account. I fail to see why my presence is required specifically."

"How about you answer my question, _General_?" Gerald said dangerously. "Last I checked, you answered to me, not the other way around."

"Why do I wish to accompany the Ylisseans?" Kendal repeated, and Gerald nodded. "In case Regnier decides to greet them personally."

"That's… a valid concern, Gerald," Ellen spoke up reluctantly.

"Not really," Gerald said flatly. "I thought we already established that King Chrom's blade, and by extension Princess Lucina's, can kill him, regardless of the Ancient Heart's power. I fail to see why your presence is required, specifically," he said with a mocking tone, echoing Kendal's own previous statement. "I'm sure you understand my reluctance to allow you to go off on an extended trip with the last remaining original Ecclesian noble in existence. If you should happen to get _too_ friendly, I might find myself having to fight against another Ecclesian Empire, under 'Patriarch Walter'." Walter's jaw dropped incredulously; was Gerald really that paranoid!?

"We established that they _might_ be able to," Kendal corrected. "The only way to be sure is for them to actually strike him. Should it fail, then Regnier will be able to destroy the entire army single-handedly. Should they succeed, they will still have to best him in combat, which is no trifling matter. You yourself failed to even strike him with your blade before, and you were still a more experienced warrior than the King and Princess at that point. As for your suspicions about a conspiracy to rebel, they are completely unfounded. And frankly, Your Majesty, I am offended by these baseless accusations. Do you think me so faithless that I would betray you to bring back an Empire long dead?"

"Yes," Gerald responded bluntly. "You've done an admirable job of encouraging and supporting the faith that founded the Empire. Even going as far as to unilaterally repeal my reforms."

"Yeah, Walter volunteering to lead a country?" Robin piped up amusedly. "Not happening. We had to strong arm him into his current job. I doubt he'd so readily take on the responsibility of leading a nation. He's just not equipped to deal with all of that. No offense, Walter," Robin added sheepishly.

"None taken, for it is the truth," Walter stated, before turning to Gerald with a frown. "I realize you were not fond of the Empire, King Gerald. Few outside of it were. I also realize you do not like or trust me. But my home is in Ylisse now. The Empire is dead, and no one knows that more painfully than I. I will not abandon this world to relive the glory days of the Empire. I swear on the Lord, with all of you as witness, that I have no intention of resurrecting the Ecclesian Empire."

"Yes, because your word carries so much weight with me," Gerald said dryly.

"King Gerald," Dolgahn spoke up, "you're being unreasonable. Kendal has a valid argument for going with the Ylisseans, and though I do not know this Walter personally, he is a far cry from the dishonorable, murderous dog you have portrayed him as to me. We're giving the Dark Elves, of all people, a chance to prove themselves. And from the way I heard it, General Lennart was simply being an overzealous idiot when he destroyed the Ancient Heart, not some devil-worshipping lunatic who wanted to destroy Bersia." Walter winced at the blunt accusation, but did not and could not argue it. "I say we give them the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, the stakes of this war are too high for us to be making decisions based on your paranoia. If the Ylissean Army is turned away at Valm Harbor, we will lose time, men, and ships that we simply don't have. If Kendal going along with them ensures that Regnier doesn't simply show up and kill them all, then I say let it be done." Gerald glared angrily at Dolgahn, especially when he dismissed him as simply being paranoid, but Dolgahn continued. "Besides, I like the idea of the Ecclesian Empire rising up about as much as anyone else here. I'm not keen on losing Mount Levantz to them once more. Should the Empire return, the Dwarves will stand by you as you put it back to rest."

"As will the Elves," Snowstone spoke up. "The Ecclesian Empire drove my people from Brimstone Forest and Woodenshade, forcing us into the wildlands of Essex, exposing us to constant assault from the Dark Legion. They then deposed my brother and used me as a puppet queen, until the Dark Legion forced us from Arein, at which point we had to beg for asylum with the Dwarves because the Empire would not return our stolen territory. I will not allow my people to suffer such indignity again."

"I could have resurrected the Empire myself if I had wished it," Kendal pointed out. "There was already much civil unrest in Ecclesia when I escaped the Dark Dimension, based on your 'reforms' that effectively banned the open practice of our faith. Your refusal to even acknowledge the Clergy had them seriously considering sedition. It would have taken but a push to send the masses into open revolt, and given my own status among my people, being christened Patriarch would have been all but guaranteed. But I did not. I repealed your reforms to defuse the civic unrest, purged the Church of its more violence-inclined clergy, and brought the remnants of the Faith back to the Path. The Path of God is not forceful compliance and mindless slaughter, but willful conversion and charity. My God is a God of love, not hate, Your Majesty, and I will forever curse the Empire for sullying His name. The Ecclesian Empire visited horrors upon our neighbors, and I was never really comfortable with it. One of my deepest regrets is not speaking out against it. The Empire is dead because it lost God's grace and strayed from the Path. I serve you, King Gerald, because you rule with peace and love for your people, not fear and violence. You have no Inquisitors or Emissaries because you do not _need_ them. That is why I respect you, why I trust you to lead the Ecclesian people. You rule the way God intends his people to be ruled, whether you follow Him directly or not. As long as you stay that course, my hammer will ever be yours."

Kendal's words resonated in Walter's own mind. He was no fan of the apostates of Hironeiden, or the atheistic Dwarves, or the nature-worshipping, hedonistic Elves. But he did not think any of them needed to die simply for believing differently, especially when the Dwarves and Elves were so often denied the opportunity to convert at all. He understood that as a theocratic state, the Empire had to conduct the dirty business of politics, but he knew the Scriptures well enough that he knew there was no call for genocide. He had led some of the "relocation" or "resource acquisition" missions waged against the non-humans. He had spent time with the Inquisitors, and had "interviewed" his share of suspected "heretics" who were more often than not simply people who did not toe the line. It had never sat right with him. He had thought about speaking out, but such thoughts were heresy…or so he thought at the time. He had realized many moons ago, after talking with Phila about Gangrel's domestic policies (and seeing how similar they were to Ecclesian ones), that it was simply man's greed and his need for control using the Faith as a tool to reach his ends. But he had remained silent all the same. Perhaps if he had spoken out, fought against the corruption of the Church, perhaps fought to separate it from the State that was corrupting it, then things might have happened differently…

"I agree," Cirith spoke up, surprising Walter. "That Walter isn't going to back stab you, anyway. I was with him when he betrayed Rithrin, remember? He acted differently than he does now. When he's plotting to betray someone, he gets stiff, doesn't maintain eye contact for more than four seconds at a time, crosses his arms, slightly shuffles his left foot, doesn't directly state he will not betray them so he can maintain some semblance of dignity and honor when he plunges the knife into their back, and doesn't address the target respectfully." Walter's eyebrow twitched at the apparently excruciating amount of detail Cirith put into her observations. _She is a Yenicheri,_ Walter mused. _A talented spy must be observant, I suppose._

Gerald groaned in frustration. "Fine," he said bitterly. "You can go, Kendal. I still don't trust the two of you together, but you're right about Regnier. If he shows up before we establish a beachhead, we're going to be in trouble. But I'm sending Glen to keep an eye on you two regardless." Everyone present simply rolled their eyes, and Glen saluted his father in acceptance of the mission.

"Why is this 'Regnier' so dangerous?" Admiral Bahar spoke up. "Pardon my lack of tact, but the mere mention of this man has the lot of you hardened warriors panicking like newborns."

"Ellen and I are the only ones in Hironeiden who have faced him in combat and survived," Gerald said grimly. "He channels the power of a dark god, and his skin turns blades as surely as a castle wall. He is untouchable. He possesses the raw strength to force Ogres to submit to his will, and I've seen Ogres throw grown men as if they weigh nothing. I'm no slouch, and I was even better back in my heyday, but I have a rather large, gaping scar on my gut from his swordsmanship. He also happens to be a cunning, brutal, ruthless strategist. I am not exaggerating when I say that he is likely the most powerful being to have ever walked Bersia."

"Cirith, Ilfa, and I have also faced him," Morene spoke up. "I feel fear only rarely, yet I feared greatly for my life that day. Though it pains me to admit it, I'm not sure I could have bested him even if I _could_ harm him. I only landed a single, glancing blow, and it left not even a scratch…"

"I didn't fare much better," Cirith grumbled. "Morene's actually the one who saved my hide, distracting him long enough for my troops to pull back."

"If the divine Falchion cannot slay him," Bahar argued, "and he is such a terrible foe, then why would General Kendal be able to, especially wielding naught but an ordinary hammer and mace?"

"There is power to be found within the Dark Dimension, Admiral," Kendal said gravely. "It is not without its price, but I have…absorbed some of it. I have matched Regnier in combat before. I can certainly do so again. Though even I cannot kill him, I can force him to retreat." Walter's brow furrowed; what power was he talking about, and what price? Kendal seemed to read Walter's mind and held up a hand where only Walter could see it; their sign for "I will explain later".

"There is another course of action," Prince Glen spoke up. This was a surprise to Walter; most of the time, Prince Glen merely stood beside his mother or father silently, fiddling with the curious weapon that hung on his right hip while absorbing the information presented. He was a reserved, formal young man. Much more like his mother than his father.

"Not that I can see," Kendal responded curiously. "None here can stand against Regnier but I, and possibly the Exalted Line and the twin Falchions. What do you suggest, Prince Glen?"

"Our scouts reported that Hexter was nearly empty, did they not?" Glen asked, and Kendal nodded in affirmation. "Then if Hexter is empty, I propose we send a small, elite unit back to Bersia, to retrieve the Ancient Heart from the Altar of Destruction and use it to-"

" _NO_!" Every single person of Bersian origins all roared at once. They each shot each other sheepish looks, before Kendal spoke up.

"I mean no disrespect, Prince Glen, but have you taken leave of your senses?" Kendal asked incredulously.

"Not at all," Prince Glen responded confidently. "What few guards remain in Hexter will be looking to hold against a potential assault from our rear detachment long enough for reinforcements to arrive from Valm, not a strike force designed for infiltration. We can easily take the Heart from Regnier, and force him to retreat!"

"Absolutely not!" Walter shouted again, though he was the only speaker this time. "Prince Glen, this is folly. The Ancient Heart is not some magical trinket to be taken lightly. I have held it myself, for but a week, and it nearly drove me to madness. It corrupted Patriarch Dimitri, one of the most willful and pious men to have ever walked the earth. None can handle it safely; you would risk its destruction, and the release of Encablossa? Just for an easy way out in a war!?"

"My father is right," Thomas said gravely. The collective attendees all looked at him like he had grown a second head; he was normally reluctant to even acknowledge Walter as his father at all, let alone _agree_ with him on anything. "That damnable thing nearly destroyed Bersia, not even thirty years ago! It is madness!"

"Have you learned nothing from the fate of my people?" Ilfa asked incredulously. "Lucretia thought to use the Heart to gain the upper hand against me in our civil war, and now there are barely any Dark Elves left! Regnier will not hesitate to turn his fury on Hironeiden, should you fail. Listen to me carefully when I say this, Prince Glen: you gamble with the lives of your entire race. Do not repeat Lucretia's mistake."

"But this is a prime opportunity!" Glen told them, almost desperately, standing up now. "Long have the forces of Hironeiden kept the Dark One at bay. By the blood of _my men_ are your lands kept safe! Let us take the Heart from him, and use it against him! We can force Regnier to relinquish Hexter to the Orcs, and they will fall into civil war until a new Great Chieftain is determined. Why, if we were to use the Heart to control him, we could even turn the fury of Hexter against Valm, making this war practically a walk in the park and saving thousands of our own soldiers!"

"One does not simply 'use' the Ancient Heart, Prince Glen," Kendal stated grimly. "It uses _you_. Encablossa's power is beyond the grasp of mortals, and any attempt to use it would only result in the wielder eventually going completely mad and following the compulsion to destroy it and release Encablossa. It cannot be done."

"It can!" Glen shouted, sounding almost angry now as his father stood up. "And it arguably should! I am no fool, General Kendal; I know very well the dangers of the Ancient Heart. I have talked to veterans of the war, visited the asylums where those so traumatized by Encablossa's summoning that they were driven mad reside. I harbor no intention of actually _using_ it; more along the lines of the _threat_ of using it. We can extort Regnier to follow our demands. We can simply lock away the Heart in a vault, and use the threat of its power to tame the Lord of Hexter!"

Before anyone else could speak up, Gerald seized hold of his son's shoulders and spun him around. "Listen closely, Glen," Gerald said dangerously. "We are _not_ touching the Ancient Heart. I understand what you're trying to do, but the risk is far higher than the reward. You weren't _there_ when Encablossa was released. I was. Tens of thousands of men died in the first _hour_ , Glen. Not the first week, or just the first day, but the first _hour_. By the time Regnier scraped up the survivors that had scattered to the four winds, we had barely a few thousand soldiers to fight back against it. When I remained behind to defend what people we managed to save, I had a single battalion at my command. You didn't see the monstrosities that thing spawns overrun every castle and town they came across in hours. Encablossa was released for _three days_ , Glen, and killed forty three percent of the population of Bersia. Ecclesia was so depopulated and ravaged that they didn't even _try_ to resist annexation; they begged for it. The Elf population was decimated, because Encablossa appeared practically right in their back yard. The Dwarves were the only race that managed to not lose many people, but they were never populous to begin with and had well fortified positions deep in their mountain strongholds, where the Encablossan flying monstrosities couldn't easily reach. But rest assured, once Encablossa had finished with the rest of us and turned his sights on them, they would have died all the same. If something, _anything_ , goes wrong with your plan, that will all happen again, and we're not strong enough to stop it this time. We. Are. Not. Touching. The. Ancient. Heart," he growled, poking his son in the chest with each word. "Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand, alright," Glen said coldly, stepping back from his father. "I understand that you are all craven," he spat.

"Watch your tongue, son," Gerald warned. "You're not too old that I still can't take you over my knee."

"You would punish me for speaking the truth?" Glen said bitterly. "Because that is all it is: the truth. You are craven. You are all cowards. You fear the mere possibility of Encablossa's return so much that you let his Avatar run roughshod over whatever he likes. And now, when the perfect opportunity to end his tyranny arises, you all find yourselves wanting for a spine. You all disgust me," he finished, before blowing past his father and exiting the building.

"Glen, wait!" Ellen cried worriedly, before hurrying after her son.

"I do not mean to sound accusatory, King Gerald," Walter said gravely as Gerald stared at the now-closed door, "but is he going to be a problem?"

Gerald narrowed his eyes at Walter, before sighing. "No," Gerald responded. "Glen won't do anything rash. This isn't the first time we've butted heads over Regnier; this is only the first time we've ever had something resembling a chance to make such a plan work. Back in Hironeiden, he leads a militia much like the Shepherds. Most of his missions are responding to Orc raiding parties, and he's growing frustrated with the situation. Hexter doesn't have much arable land, so they tend to raid Hironeiden for supplies; you know that, it's been that way for as long as anyone can remember. Anyone who resists, and that isn't a woman or child, tends to get killed. Glen's lost a lot of good men to the Orcs. He wants the situation to stop. He even proposed trading food to them for a while, once he found out why they raided, but Hexter's just too large and too poor to sate that way. So the raids continue, and his frustration grows. He just wants the violence to stop."

"I can understand the want to stop the raids," Chrom spoke up. "Gods, do I understand that want. But you're right, the risk is far beyond the reward. You have my word that the Ylissean Army won't try to recover the Ancient Heart, should we find whatever method Regnier used to move his entire army without being noticed."

"Thank you for that," Gerald sighed, before slumping back into his chair. "Bersia's population still hasn't recovered; many of my troops are conscripts. If Encablossa was released again, we wouldn't survive it. Glen's got his heart in the right place, but his idea is too risky. Ellen will get through to him, I'm sure. She always has when the two of us got into a disagreement."

"Well, now that that's settled," Cirith interrupted, "I have a question."

"Go ahead, General Cirith," Chrom said politely.

"Oh, forget the title," Cirith drawled. "I'm barely worthy of the rank 'Colonel', given how few troops I command. Just Cirith will do."

"Alright then, Cirith," Chrom corrected himself. "What is your question?"

"Who is in command here?" She asked simply.

"Uh…what?" Chrom asked, confused. "We all command our own forces, Cirith. I don't understand your question."

"Everyone here's experienced enough to know that once we're actually in battle, there isn't time for polite consultations," Cirith explained. "We need a clear chain of command. Or specifically, a commander that all of us will answer to, even if just in battle."

At that, everyone's eyes shifted nervously around the room, and Walter frowned. There were too many conflicting interests here, he immediately concluded. The Elves and the Dark Elves would never answer to each other. The Dwarves and the Hironeiden Army were about as likely to listen to Ilfa as Snowstone was. Snowstone had made her distrust of Chrom over the issue of the Dark Elves being granted asylum abundantly clear, and Gerald and even Dolgahn had expressed reservations about Chrom's overly trusting nature, so that wouldn't be ideal. Given the recent discussion, he doubted Gerald would cede command to Kendal, one of the few people that all parties respected. The chances of the Bersian commanders listening to him was about as likely as a snowball's chance in southern Hexter. Lucina, despite being liked and respected well enough by everyone, had never had command of such a vast army, and would be horribly out of her depth, not to mention her admitted acquaintance with Regnier muddying the waters. Admiral Bahar would only be with them for the voyage and to defend their exit point; the Plegians had committed no ground forces. Virion had made quite the arse of himself with the female commanders on all sides, and with the mostly female Elves and Dark Elves, so he was obviously not an option.

"I suggest we grant command of the Alliance to Robin," Walter spoke aloud as his train of thought reached its logical conclusion.

Robin, who had been sipping disinterestedly at his coffee at all the "dirty politicking" as he called it, promptly spewed it all over the table. "What!?" he shouted, several octaves higher than he probably meant to.

"That's…not actually a bad idea," Gerald mused, clearly having had the same thoughts Walter had. "I'm fine with it."

"He is young yet, but his deeds speak for themselves," Kendal added. "I am also in agreement."

"I have heard much of you, tactician," Snowstone said curiously. "If the rumors are true, the Elves could certainly do worse than to trust themselves to your command, especially with…present company," she added hatefully, glaring at Ilfa, who responded in kind.

"I suspect a blue moon will rise tonight, because I find myself agreeing with Snowstone," Ilfa added. "You are barely old enough to not be considered an infant by my people, but my scouts have observed you for quite a while, and spoke warily of your abilities. I would follow your commands."

"I second…wait, no, sixth that," Dolgahn said with a nod. "I know little of your tactical exploits, but I know very well your work on repairing Ylisse's economy after your war with Plegia. If you're half as good at tactics as you are negotiating trade deals and tax plans, then you have the full faith and support of the Guilds."

"He got us through the first war," Flavia said with a shrug. "He's certainly able to get us through this one." Basilio nodded in agreement behind her.

"Whoa!" Robin shouted. "Whoawhoawhoa! Hold up! Now, I'm not trying to be modest here, but I've never commanded hundreds of thousands of troops before."

"I beg to differ," Chrom said, grinning at Robin's distress. "Though General Thorne didn't listen to your suggestions on how to handle the Plegian border, the other generals did."

"Aye lad," General Sedgar spoke up. "Your strategies saved my hide on the southern edge of the mountains when the Plegians began to cross. The other Generals share the same story, except for General Grant. But his was a tenuous position anyway, and too much was in the hands of chance. It certainly wasn't your fault."

Robin was pale. "Guys, come on!" he pleaded. "I admit, I've had some lucky successes-"

"Anyone who knows your gambling debt knows how horrendously unlucky you are, oh Most Tactical of Tacticians," Virion said with a mocking grin. "'Twas not luck that carried us through ze war, but your brilliance."

"After this meeting, I'm going to have Dean eat you," Robin swore angrily.

"You were granted command of the Allied Army in my time," Lucina supplied helpfully (or unhelpfully, from the perspective of a certain brown-haired tactician). "You brought victory when others thought it impossible."

"It doesn't matter much to me," Admiral Bahar said with a shrug. "Perhaps if King Validar had committed actual troops to this war, I might have objections, but I have no issue with it. You're crude, boy, but you're honest, and every Plegian knows what you're capable of. I can respect that."

"Robin, please," Walter asked humbly. "There is no better candidate. There is too much distrust among the rest of us to make one of us commander without serious discipline concerns. None here can force you to accept the position, save perhaps King Chrom, but it is the most rational course of action. Should you need guidance, I am sure any one of us would be willing to provide it. And as Cirith said, this is mostly a formality for combat; we do not aim to simply heap our responsibilities onto you and wash our hands of it. We are all in this together; we simply wish for you to be the one to lead us."

Robin looked around desperately for someone who might take his side, but all he saw were hopeful expressions. He then let out a roar of frustration, before heaving a sigh. "Fine," he snapped bitterly. "I'll accept the position."

"Thank you, Robin," Chrom stated gratefully and warmly. "Truly, I mean it. I would be lost without you."

"You don't have to butter me up, Chrom," Robin bit out. "I already said yes."

"You know me well enough to know I'd never try to butter you up," Chrom said with a grin.

"So, what's his title going to be?" Cirith spoke up again. "We've already got enough 'generals' floating around. He'll need a title that clearly shows he's different from the rest of us, so the troops don't get confused."

"I think I have just the thing," Chrom said with a grin. "Frederick, do you know the origin of our country's name, 'Ylisse'?"

"Ylisse was the name of the First Exalt's chief tactician and most trusted advisor," Frederick answered instantly. "It was also rumored that they were lovers, but there is little evidence of that beyond what amounts to the wagging tongues of his personal company. Given that he married shortly after the war and that it was a happy, loving marriage by all accounts, it seems doubtful. During the final battle against the Fell Dragon, Ylisse sacrificed her own life to give the First Exalt the opportunity to slay the foul wyrm. Though Archanea was politically shattered by the Schism that occurred shortly before Grima's rise, the First Exalt renamed the lands he yet held, and his own House, in her honor."

"Do you remember her title?" Chrom asked rhetorically.

"When the First Exalt gathered the disparate, fledgling nations of the world together to fight the Fell Dragon after it was unearthed, she was named 'Grandmaster' of the assembled armies," Frederick answered dutifully.

"Oh gods," Robin groaned. "I get that you all like me and put me in charge, but naming me after _the_ Ylisse is going a bit far, don't you think?"

"Does anyone object to this title?" Chrom asked, grinning madly as Robin buried his face in his hands. "Congratulations, Grandmaster Robin, Commander of the Outrealm Alliance."

"I hate you all," Robin ground out bitterly through his hands, causing the others to laugh at him.

000

Glen fired his hand cannon once more at the target he'd tacked to the tree; and once more, he missed.

"Blast!" he snarled, before groaning in frustration and holstering the weapon. It was inaccurate in the best of times, being a prototype weapon, but right now he couldn't hit a target to save his bloody life. He'd been on this hill outside of Port Ferox for an hour now, gone through nearly half of his ammunition, and still hadn't hit the target. He was too angry to practice his shooting, he realized in irritation. Mother had come after him and tried to convince him, and he'd pretended to listen and acquiesce as he usually did. But the thought wouldn't leave him. They would _never_ get this opportunity again! Regnier was gone from Hexter, a literal world away, and had taken the Orcs with him! They could end the threat he posed once and for all, and his craven of a father would rather sit back and continue to let the Orcs raid the frontier towns. Glen had grown tired of the blood and death. He had grown tired of missives in the night, begging for aid, only to arrive just as the Orcs were leaving the ravaged village. Tired of being ambushed on patrol and watching his men die around him. Tired of explaining to the families of militiamen that their fathers and brothers weren't coming home again. Tired of double checking that he had packed a spade, because he always needed one. Something needed to change, but no one wanted to change anything!

"Dueling with unpleasant thoughts?" A voice asked lightly from his left. Startled by the fact that the speaker had somehow managed to evade his keen senses, he whirled around, pulled his pistol, and fired.

Only for an empty click to sound. He hadn't reloaded.

"Oh, good Lord!" Glen stated in a panic as he realized who it was. "I am terribly sorry, Sir Robin! I am thankful that I hadn't reloaded; you might be dead!"

"Interesting weapon you have there," the tactician replied nonchalantly. Glen frowned. He looked…older, somehow. He sounded more tired. Perhaps it was the morning light playing tricks on him? "What is it?"

"This?" Glen stated. "A prototype weapon developed by the Dwarves. Dolgahn requested that I test it in battle during this war. It's a gunpowder weapon, designed for personal use, called a 'hand cannon'. It launches one of these;" he stated, pulling a stone shot out from one of the pouches at his waist, "faster than even a crossbow. It is powerful and practically impossible to dodge, but the accuracy…well, it leaves something to be desired. Upon Father's suggestion, I requested Miriel to take a look at it. She's a queer one, though. I don't expect much in the way of results."

"Miriel's smarter than you're giving her credit for. She'll probably be able to figure something out," Robin said. "But I have the sneaking suspicion that your failure to hit that target has little to do with the weapon's faults."

Glen sighed. "You have the right of it, Sir Robin," he admitted. "I know nobody else approves of my suggestion to steal the Ancient Heart, but…I've been repelling Orc raiding parties for fourteen years now. I grow exceedingly tired of it all. If we were to kill or depose Regnier, it could all stop, or at least we could be granted a few years of peace before the Orcs sort themselves out. I just want the violence to end."

"I get that," Robin said quietly. "If stealing some magical artifact would have stopped the Plegian bandit raids years ago, I would have done it in a heartbeat. It's…painful, watching your people suffer."

"I'm glad _somebody_ understands," Glen said, his tone flooded with relief. "I do not idly wish to risk the entire continent, but eventually the death toll for the raids will reach the casualties suffered at Encablossa's hands! What justification will Father have then…if he even lives that long," Glen muttered quietly. "It is…difficult, Sir Robin. To live such a long life, I mean. All children outlive their fathers, barring catastrophe, but it is different when you know that, unless I choose to marry an Elf, I will also outlive my own children. My mother will long outlive us all, probably for centuries. I appear barely older than your own daughter, yet I'm older than anybody on the Ylissean side of the war Council, barring the Feroxi Khans. I took command of my first troops when I was sixteen, and for the past fourteen years I have tried, and ultimately failed, to protect my people. And should things continue, I shall spend the rest of my very long life failing them. I am lauded for my strength of arm and my strategic thinking among the border villagers, but when I see the future I will live with, Sir Robin, I feel so very weak and stupid."

"I feel for you," Robin said sympathetically. "I can't imagine dealing with Plegian raids for as long as you have. And frankly, I don't think you should have to deal with them either."

"I appreciate your sympathy," Glen said genuinely, "but unfortunately, my hands are tied. Everyone disagrees with my plan, and there is no accomplishing it on my own."

"Who said that everyone disagrees with your plan?" Robin said, a devious smirk coming to his face.

"…Speak plainly, tactician," Glen said, lowering his voice. There were Elves about, and he had the feeling this was not something to be overheard.

"I agree with your plan," Robin replied, his voice just as low. "When we find whatever gateway Regnier is using to move his troops through, enter the gate, find the Heart, and exfiltrate back through the gate."

"You would…Sir Robin," Glen said warily, "King Chrom almost assuredly did not agree to this. You…you speak treason!"

"No, he didn't," Robin admitted. "But he also just appointed me Grandmaster of the Alliance; he's left such strategic decisions in my hands. I agree with your plan. I trust that you know what you're doing, that you can resist the Heart's influence at least long enough to return to the Army. Once the Heart is in our hands, even your father will not be able to argue the course. I joined the Shepherds to protect the little folk, and letting them die out for your elders' fears leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This is your last chance to back out; do you agree to this mission?"

Glen had to think on it but a moment. "I accept, Sir Robin…Grandmaster," he corrected.

Robin smiled widely then. "Perfect," he said cheerily, before absently scratching at a scar over his eye. "Now, you've been missing out here for a while, and your old man is getting suspicious. Might want to get back and aboard the _Legacy of Berkut_ before your absence is noted by others."

"Very well," Glen said with a salute. He absently noticed his hand was shaking slightly from the nervousness now raging through him. "I will see you aboard, Grandmaster…and thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Robin warned. "We haven't even really gotten started. We are committed, but until we locate the gate, the mission is still on hold. Thank me when you return with the Heart, and your people are safe. Also, remember this: this conversation never happened. If you approach me about it again, even in as private a spot as you could possibly imagine, and even just to tell me that you want out, I will simply pretend that I don't know what you're talking about and act like it's never been discussed with me before. If you do it in witness of others, I'll be forced to detain you, lest people think I'm plotting behind their back and the Army starts to break apart from it. If you won't do it, I will just find someone else. This war was brutal the last time. If I can lessen the death toll, I will gladly do it."

"I understand you perfectly, Grandmaster," Glen nodded. He was rather surprised that Robin was going to such extreme lengths, but Glen was too relieved to have a sympathetic ear to really care about they "why" of it. "Farewell." Glen then turned and jogged off, wanting to be as far from the place as possible.

Robin watched him go, the pleasant smile fading from his face, until he was at least three humans' earshot away. "Validar," Robin said coldly, a hint of magic in his voice.

"Yes, Master?" Validar asked dutifully, an astral projection flaring into existence beside him.

"Contact Excellus and tell him to cease searching for a way past Urukubarr's defense of the Gate," he commanded. "I've found another agent with better opportunity. The fat toad's lack of subtlety already has that damnable Half-Vampire haunting his footsteps, and I don't want _all_ of my plans given away by his idiocy."

"Your will be done, Master," Validar said faithfully, before his projection disappeared.

The Hierophant's cold gaze lingered over Port Ferox below him. Those damnable children of his old friends and those Bersian interlopers were throwing all of his plans out of sorts. If it weren't for Regnier's enigmatic agenda driving him to ally with Walhart, they might very well have completely derailed all of his plans in Valm. But this artifact, this "Ancient Heart"…it presented an opportunity he couldn't ignore. The Hierophant wouldn't lie; he'd started to become desperate. Until the Fell Dragon was awakened once more, his plans were incredibly delicate, and the appearance of all of these unwanted guests had thrown everything into disarray. The interlopers threatened to overthrow fate itself, even! But then he'd received a message from Bersia, from a man much like himself. He remembered how the grin that he'd sprouted while reading through that letter had threatened to split his face. Yes, things were very much back on course now. And if this new…friendship bore fruit, all of their combined enemies would be wiped out in one swift stroke. This time, there would be no attempt to find the Fire Emblem, no trip by meddlesome children through time to try to change things further. These damnable Ylisseans and Bersians would be forced to stand and fight them head on, and would thus be utterly crushed by their combined might.

 _Time to tip the scales,_ the Hierophant thought, a cruel grin coming to his face.

 **AN:**

 **OH SHIT THE HIEROPHANT'S GETTING INVOLVED**

 **One major, very valid criticism of the second half of Awakening is that there's practically no substantial link between the Grimleal Hierophant and the rest of the story until the end, or between Plegia and Valm, aside from what amounts to a brief, poor explanation during one of Aversa's evil monologues at the Dragon's Table. I will be changing that. It won't be major, necessarily, but the Grimleal will definitely make appearances in Valm.**

 **Glen's motivations come from some very real, very personal convos with friends of mine in the infantry who were present for OIF OEF. No matter how well you train your soldiers, they get very tired, very quickly of watching their friends die without making any progress.**

 **Also, yes, Glen has a flintlock pistol. I used one of the character models from Kingdom Under Fire 2's "gunslinger" class for him. It's a prototype right now, though, so you don't have to worry about this going to formations of rifle-users plinking away at each other at point blank range lol.**

 **Also, some minor custom lore dumping here. The First Exalt's shenanigans are never really explained in detail. All we're told is that he killed Grima, and at some point there was a Schism that broke the United Kingdom of Archanea and the One Kingdom of Valentia into pieces (and it's never even stated that this Schism happened during the First Exalt's time). So, my theory is that the first Grimleal members purposefully started a civil war to mask their operations to find/unearth Grima. They succeed, First Exalt puts him down, but the continents are split into pieces from the war. However, it's never explained how what was originally the country of Archanea (which the continent was named after) was renamed "Ylisse". Given that Ylisse is phonetically similar to "Elise" (shoutout to the most precious character in Fates), I'm positing that "Ylisse" was actually a person, and one very important to the First Exalt, to the point where he'd name the shattered remains of his country after her when she predictably made a heroic yet tragic sacrifice. I made her the First Exalt's tactician because I like drawing parallels between past and future, and gave her the title "Grandmaster" as a shoutout to the class itself.**


	80. Chapter 80

**Chapter 80**

 **Departure**

"Anchors aweigh!" Admiral Bahar barked from the helm of the _Legacy of Berkut_. "Ready to set sail! Faster, you cack-handed deck apes, we've an invasion to launch!"

Robin chuckled as the Plegian crew that had taken over their "borrowed" Valmese ship scurried around to start the voyage, shooting frightened glances at the Admiral. He turned to where Chrom was standing at the prow of the ship, frowning in the general direction of Valm.

"Dueling with unpleasant thoughts?" Robin asked lightly as he walked up next to his best friend.

"You know me well," Chrom said dryly, not even looking at him, before his frown deepened. "I was thinking about what Lucina said. About how we only won the last war by a stroke of luck. And about the other day, when we were talking about what she's done since coming to the past, and she mentioned how 'the river of time favors its original course.' What if this doesn't make a difference? What if we get all of these men killed and once again only triumph by luck? What if we're just playing into fate's hands?"

"To the nine hells with 'fate'," Robin spat vehemently, causing Chrom to turn toward him in surprise. "I don't believe in it. I can't speak to pre-amnesia me, but given how much I hate the idea, I doubt he did either." He put his hand on Chrom's shoulder. "Fate didn't get us this far, Chrom. Fate didn't bring Walter to us to make our military the strongest it's ever been. Fate didn't bring Gerald and Ellen here, making this alliance possible. Fate definitely didn't send Lucina and Morgan back in time to help us. It was us. All of us. _We_ made these choices, Chrom, not fate." He pointed back toward the rest of the ship. "And it's _us_ who will win this war. If we work together, nothing can stop us! I feel like we've got these…invisible ties between us. They bind us together, into a chain so strong not even fate can break it. _We_ built these bonds, Chrom, and I'll be damned if a couple of mindless brutes like Walhart or Regnier, or some failed lab experiment can break us apart. Maybe if it were any of us alone, fate would have its way, but we're not alone. We're all in for the long haul on this, Chrom. We're going to stop Walhart, kill Grima, and win a better future for our children, and I want you with me every step of the way. What do you say?" His face promptly turned red as applause broke out behind him; he apparently managed to pull the attention of practically everyone aboard.

"I'd say all this sea air has gone to your head," Chrom said amusedly. But he was smiling now, and that's what Robin was going for.

"Quit staring at the Grandmaster, you slack jawed idiots!" Admiral Bahar barked to the crew. "This ship won't sail itself!" The crew jumped in fright, before bolting back to their positions. The Shepherds also dispersed, heading their own separate ways.

"Yeah, maybe that's enough philosophy for today," Robin said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "I think now's a good time to go flying with Morgan."

As he went to walk away, however, Chrom grabbed hold of his shoulder. "Robin," he said seriously. "If we really do have these invisible bonds between us…I'm glad it's with you," he said with a soft smile.

"Me too, Chrom," Robin said, returning the smile. "Now, I'm going to go flying with Morg- oh, wait," he said, slapping himself upside the head. "No, I've got to go talk to Virion and Cherche. They know Rosanne like the backs of their hands, and I've been meaning to consult them about the best way to assault Valm Harbor, and what specific route we should take to Castle Virion."

"Speaking of our Rosannean friends," Chrom said, his grin turning almost cruel, "we're all going to be stuck on this ship together for almost a month. If you're planning anything regarding a certain pink-haired wyvern rider, now's a good time to-" he grunted as Robin shoved him over, but started laughing as Robin's face turned as pink as Cherche's hair while he stormed away.

000

Walter hummed absently as he placed his belongings in his cabin along with Phila's, but was interrupted as shouting broke out down the hallway. Curious, he walked back out and down the hallway to the door it was emanating from. It was Morene's and Ilfa's cabin, he realized. The shouting was quite loud, but he couldn't quite make out the contents. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but was forced to leap back as it nearly slammed into his face.

"Eavesdropping is unbecoming of someone in your position, ape," Morene said coldly as she noticed Walter's presence.

"I heard shouting, and came to see if everything was alright," Walter explained gruffly. "I heard nothing of your conversation, and care little for such matters. I simply wished to ensure that you two weren't about to set the ship ablaze."

"Continue not to care," Morene warned, "or the Ylisseans may find themselves short a General." With that, she muscled past him in the narrow hall and stormed down the corridor and out of sight.

Walter shook his head in contempt, before turning to return to his own cabin. Something caught his eye as he turned, however, and he watched as Ilfa practically fell down to sit on her cot, tears of frustration rolling down her face.

Walter wasn't certain why, but he stepped closer to the door frame and cleared his throat to catch her attention. "Queen Ilfa, is…is everything alright?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, General Lennart, everything is fine," Ilfa said stiffly as she hastily wiped her tears away. "My advisor and I were simply having a…disagreement. It will not affect either of our duties, or the Alliance."

"It…it is not really my place to ask," Walter said almost against his own will, "but why do you rely on her for advice? I can see why someone as cold and calculating as her could be useful when trying to survive Regnier's raids, but in more…diplomatic matters, her aggressive behavior would seem more of a bane than a boon."

"Morene is a hard, proud woman," Ilfa admitted, sighing dejectedly. "And you are correct that her advice was indispensable while evading Regnier's hunting parties. But it may surprise you to learn that the idea of turning to the humans of this world for asylum was actually her idea."

Walter was indeed surprised. "Given her hatred of my kind, I would assume she was wholeheartedly opposed to the idea," Walter mused.

"She doesn't hate your kind, per se," Ilfa corrected. "More that she simply views your kind as…cattle, of a sort. Or a tool to be used."

"Charming," Walter deadpanned.

Ilfa actually laughed at that, though it was short and brittle. "Yes, she's always been…practical. When she saved me from Lucretia at her own peril, I was more surprised than anyone."

"She saved you?" Walter asked, now openly curious.

"Yes," Ilfa said with a nod. "Morene's forces, which I was a part of, largely escaped the Battle of Nowart intact, though the same cannot be said of the bulk of our army... Encablossa had little interest in us, given that my race was once Elves that were mutated by his power. He focused more on killing and mutating those he still could, namely the humans and Orcs at the Altar and in the surrounding lands, leaving the Dark Elves alone at the beginning. Morene had us return to Vellond, to muster what forces we had left behind to resist Encablossa. When we arrived, however, we found that Kaedes had not died with Rithrin as we thought, but it had been taken over by Lucretia, and she had seized control of Vellond in Valdemar's absence. We were ambushed by Kaedes forces in the desert near Arein, and our soldiers were slaughtered; it was simply Morene and I left by the end of it, and I was terribly wounded. Lucretia gave her a choice; to die there with me, or to kill me and retreat. She…she chose me," she said softly.

"That is surprising, to say the least" Walter said with a raised eyebrow.

"Indeed it was," Ilfa said wryly. "Lucretia was taken so off guard, in fact, that Morene nearly killed her. In the end, Lucretia withdrew, mocking Morene for her softness. After that, we…talked." She said, her face turning darker, and Walter recognized it as blushing. He'd never seen a Dark Elf blush before. "I know the faith your kind follows reviles affairs between women or men, but the Dark Elves held no such compunctions. With our lopsided birth rate, with females being over twice as commonly born, it was commonplace for women to marry each other instead of competing with each other for the attention of males. We may not be truly immortal as Half-Vampires or Regnier are, but we live thousands of years. It can be a lonely existence, if we cannot find a male to have us, either as wife or concubine. And I am yet young, only seventy years old. To have found someone to share that time with is comforting…most of the time…" she trailed off with a sigh.

"It would be unjust of me to hold you to the standards of my faith when you do not follow it," Walter told her. "I am uncomfortable with the idea, I will not lie, but neither will I shame you for it. It is not truly my concern, at any rate. Do as you will, if it brings you peace."

To his surprise, Ilfa began laughing rather raucously at that. "Does something amuse you, Queen Ilfa?" Walter asked shortly.

"Nothing, General," Ilfa chortled. "Well, since you were honest with me, and you've politely listened to me ramble…I had a conversation a few days ago with your lovely wife." Walter's eyebrow twitched at the idea of a Dark Elf sizing up his wife. That was definitely not okay. "It eventually ended up on the topic of you. She said that you were 'soft beneath that gruff exterior'. I intend no offense, but I thought her mad. But I see now that she spoke the truth. You are almost like Morene in that way."

"I would prefer not to be compared to your lover, Queen Ilfa," Walter said shortly, his eyebrow twitching again. This was the last time he would attempt to be nice to anyone, he decided immediately. He would forever be the "old grouch" that Robin accused him of being.

Ilfa simply laughed. "I meant no offense, General. But I thank you for your concern," she said, standing up and smiling. "It means more than you might realize. I had resigned myself, and my people, to being the object of fear and discrimination, even if we were granted asylum. To have you of all people show concern, even if it is only for the sake of the Alliance's cohesion, means a great deal to me."

"Exalt Emmeryn would have given you a chance," Walter told her. "Despite being only a little over half my age, she was wise beyond her years. Many have been inspired by her example, and I am no exception."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," Ilfa said with a serene smile. "I wish I could have met her. Now, I am afraid I must take my leave. I must find Cirith and discuss a few minor matters with her."

"And I must find my wife, and tell her to stop talking about me behind my back," Walter grumbled.

Ilfa giggled at that. "She says only the greatest of things about you; I would not be overly concerned with it," she said softly. "Good day, General, and again, you have my thanks." With that, she slipped past Walter and disappeared from sight.

Walter heaved a sigh, before returning to his cabin. He didn't truly know why he'd felt compelled to speak to Ilfa. Three years ago, he'd have sooner painted the walls with her innards. _Much can change in the course of a few years,_ Walter mused, before sitting down on his cot and fishing into his pack for a book Robin had recommended to him, some nonsense about wyverns and high noon. It was a long voyage, after all, and short of planning the invasion of Valm, he didn't have much else to do.

000

"Hey Dad, whatcha doin?" Morgan asked cheerily as she barged into her dad's cabin. He wasn't alone, however; Virion and Cherche were also here. "Oh, hey guys!"

"Ah, my day is all ze brighter!" Virion proclaimed with a grin. "I have been blessed with ze beauteous vision of ze Dearest of Daughters to our Grandest of Grandmasters!"

"Two things Virion," Robin said quietly. "First, as Grandmaster, I forbid you from ever addressing me as Grandmaster. Second, if you flirt with my daughter ever again, I will have Minerva clamp down on one arm, Dean will clamp down on the other, and they will pull in opposite directions. They get to eat whatever they manage to tear off."

"With my blessing, I might add," Cherche said, flashing her lord a disarming smile.

Virion's face turned pale. "But of course, Most Tactical of Tacticians," he said nervously, before heaving a sigh. "It appears I will spend ze rest of my life under threat of being devoured by wyverns. Alack and alay, poor Virion is ever trodden upon by ze cruel whims of fate!"

"You're gods-damn right," Robin said with a cruel grin, before shooting a much more pleasant one to his daughter. "Hey sweetheart. I know I promised you I'd go flying with you once we set sail, but I remembered that I wanted to ask these two some questions about Valm Harbor's layout for the assault and I know I'll forget again unless I get it done now. Would you still like to go afterwards?"

Morgan tried her best to hide her disappointment. "Yeah, sure!" she said cheerily, and she panicked as her dad's face fell. He knew she was disappointed. Then an idea popped into her head. "Maybe I could help you?" She offered hopefully.

"Morgan, you can't work all the time like I do," Robin said with a frown. "The only reason that I'm not currently enjoying the sea air with you right now is because my _best friend_ ," he spat bitterly, "happened to heap the entire Alliance onto my shoulders. I know you want to help and to spend time with me, and believe me when I say I'd love nothing more than to spend every waking moment with you, but I don't want our entire relationship to be one based on work."

"Aww," Morgan pouted, no longer even trying to hide her disappointment. "I guess you're right, Dad. Hells, you're always right."

"Why don't I go flying with her instead?" Cherche suggested randomly. "Milord knows Valm Harbor better than I do, having evaded angry husbands and fathers through every back street and alley. He might even remember the layout of the sewers from the two times he had to flee through them."

"Must you undermine me at every turn?" Virion wondered in exasperation as Robin and Morgan burst out into laughter. "And must you also always be correct?" he added with a wan smile.

"Someone must keep you humble, milord," Cherche responded with a winning smile, before turning back to Morgan. "I know I am not your father, Morgan, but I must admit to desiring to get to know you better. Why, Robin barely spends time with milord anymore, so enthusiastic is he about spending time with you."

Morgan thought about it a moment, before shrugging. "I suppose," she said indifferently. "I mean, Dad talks about you all the time, so you're probably pretty awesome."

"Does he now?" Virion said with a cruel grin as Cherche turned to the now paling Grandmaster curiously.

"Y-yeah, she taught me practically everything I know about wyverns," Robin said with a nervous laugh. "A-and since Morgan and I both ride wyverns, we tend to talk about it a lot. You know how it is. I'll see you in a bit, Morgan. You two have fun on your flight."

"Let's go, Cherche!" Morgan said eagerly. She _loved_ flying. It wasn't quite the same without Dad, but still awesome.

"I will change into my riding outfit, and I will be out shortly," she said with a warm smile. Morgan smiled widely, before bolting from the room, taking the stairs to Deck 3 four at a time, and hastily mounting Dean. The Plegian sailors began lowering the invasion ramp so they could take off, but she signaled them to wait. While she was waiting, she could faintly hear her father shouting at Virion angrily and his cruel laughter in return. _Those two are ridiculous,_ Morgan thought with amusement. Within a few minutes, Cherche appeared. As she mounted Minerva, Morgan noted with equal parts amusement and grossed-outedness that all of the sailors were staring at the practically nonexistent back of her riding outfit.

"You know, Cherche," Morgan said with a chuckle as they took off, startling the crew of the ship next to them in formation as they bolted barely over their heads. Once again, eyes turned in a specific direction, "You pull a lot of looks with that riding outfit of yours."

Cherche turned a mischievous eye to Morgan. "It is by design, Morgan," she said nonchalantly as they achieved premium cruising altitude. Morgan was once again struck breathless by the sight of a thousand ships sailing at once. "My outfit is _meant_ to pull men's gaze. The Valmese Army conscripts only men, and men are easily distracted by such things in battle. You will notice that my back is devoid of scars; it is because my enemies were too busy staring to plunge a knife into it. It has been more effective than armor. The Elves and Dark Elves are another such example; they go into battle scantily clad, yet few of even their veteran warriors wear scars. Of course, they possess inhuman speed I do not that they can use to dodge blows entirely, but with Minerva watching my back, I need not such speed." Minerva let out a roar in agreement. "A woman's body can be as useful a weapon as a sword, Morgan. Especially if their opponent is like milord," she chuckled.

"Wow," Morgan said, realizing the implications of what she said, "I never thought about it like that. No wonder Dad praises you so much."

"Does your father truly speak so highly of me?" Cherche asked curiously.

"He sure does," Morgan chuckled. "He says you're nearly as smart as he is, you're really good at your job both as a knight and a maid, you're really good for only an intermediate-level cleric, and you're fun to be around. He's also really grateful that you taught him so much about wyverns." Morgan stopped and put her hand to her chin in thought, a habit she'd picked up from her dad. "Do you think you're my mother?"

The abrupt question startled both Minerva and Cherche so much that they nearly fell from the sky. As they righted themselves, Cherche was blushing furiously. "W-what?" she asked shrilly. "What gives you that idea!?"

"Well, Dad doesn't really talk to any other women who aren't married," Morgan explained. "And most of them he's not really _that_ close to. The only woman he was that close to would be Captain Cordelia, but he told me they've never been more than anything but like brother and sister, and she's married, so it can't be her either. For now, you're one of the few people I think might be my mom. Maybe Anna, or possibly even Khan Flavia but…" She shuddered at the thought of the Khan being her mother. "Lucy won't tell me anything, and the rest of the future kids won't either. So, I'm just left guessing here on my own," she said quietly, almost bitterly.

"Does your father have no clue who she might be?" Cherche asked, having recovered from her embarrassment.

"He says no," Morgan replied, now sounding frustrated. "I know he wouldn't lie to me, but I also know that he wouldn't tell me if he just had a crush on someone, so I wouldn't get all hyped up about it. But if that crush turns out to actually be my mother, then in a way he already knows and wont' tell me! It's just frustrating!"

"I sense that this bothers you, Morgan," Cherche said softly.

"It does," Morgan grumbled. "A lot. I mean, I remember every single moment I've spent with Dad in the future, up until the day that he left with Chrom to stop the Grimleal and…well, he didn't come back. But sometimes there's a… big, black spot in my memories, like somebody took a portrait and cut part of it out," she explained. "I know that missing part is memories of my mother, or my siblings, but I can't remember any of them!" A tear ran down her face then. "Why can't I remember them, Cherche? I don't have any sad or angry memories involving these blank spots, so I know that Dad and I were happy with my family. So why don't I remember them? Did I not love them enough to not forget them?" She sniffled then, and wiped at her stinging eyes.

Cherche's face fell, and she wished they weren't flying, so she could embrace the poor girl. "I am so terribly sorry for your struggles, Morgan," Cherche said sympathetically. "I could never imagine forgetting my own parents. They are the reason I fight; I wish to liberate my home and see them once more. To imagine knowing they exist and that I was happy with them, and then forgot them, would be terrible…wait, you said you had siblings?" She said suddenly, just now realizing what Morgan had said.

"Yeah, at least one," Morgan said a bit distractedly, squinting off into the distance, trying fruitlessly to recall details about them. Nothing greeted her but more black spots and muted words or names. "I was sitting there a few days ago, combing through my memories of Dad for a hint of who Mom is, when I noticed something was off. I can't tell you if it was a guy or girl, but some of my memories have Dad talking to someone else, and I can tell from the contents of the conversation that it isn't my mother, but he still loved them. Lucy and I had a fight over it when she wouldn't tell me who they were. It almost got physical, and Thomas 'gently' escorted me away. I'm _still_ mad at her," she grumbled.

"The Princess has expressed that some of the children simply sought escape from your blighted future instead of wishing to change the past," Cherche pointed out cautiously. "They do not _want_ to be found. Perhaps your sibling is one of them?"

"Yeah, I get why she won't tell me, but it's still dumb," Morgan growled, scowling. "I have a right to know! Dad has a right to know!"

"Then why have you not told him, yet?" Cherche asked. "If Robin had had more than one child and knew about it, I would have heard by now about our Princess being tortured for information if she had tried to withhold it from Robin," she chortled.

"Well, besides preventing our Princess from getting tortured," Morgan said, her scowl finally giving way to an amused smile for a brief second, "it's for pretty much the same reason that he won't tell me if he has a crush on someone. I don't want to start putting ideas in his head. I mean, maybe you're right and my siblings went into hiding. Maybe…maybe they died in the future," Morgan whispered, her voice haunted. "I don't know. All I know is that I probably, but not for absolutely certain, have or had siblings. That's not a whole lot to go on. It'll tear up my Dad inside until he finds out who and where they are, and as much as it pains me to admit it, the war can't afford to have him distracted like that. Once I convince that damnable Princess to just tell me who my bloody siblings are and where they might have gone, then I'll tell Dad."

"A valid point," Cherche mused. "But Morgan, listen to me," she said seriously, and Morgan cocked her head curiously. "You loved your family. You _may_ have adored your father _slightly_ more than your other family members, and that _may_ be why whatever malady that claimed your memories spared those of your father, but I have no doubt that such a caring, kind young woman held anything less than total love for her family. Never doubt that."

Morgan smiled at Cherche a tear coming to her eye. "Thanks, Cherche," she said. "I mean, Dad tells me that all the time, but it's Dad, you know? Of course he's gonna say that. It just means a lot coming from somebody else."

"You are most welcome, Morgan," Cherche said with a soft smile. "Would you like to make a habit of these flights? I have a feeling that there are some things you cannot discuss with your father and it does little good to simply bottle them up. I would gladly help you relieve such burdens."

Morgan's eyes lit up. "That'd be great!" she said enthusiastically. "Sometimes, like today, Dad can't go flying with me, and though flying is still great, it's not the same alone."

Cherche smiled warmly. "Then it's settled. Whenever you wish to go flying, come find me. Should my duties not keep me, I will gladly go flying with you. That being said, perhaps it's time we returned to the ship. Your father seemed quite angry with milord, and it would reflect poorly on me as a knight for my lord to be murdered under my watch." Morgan just laughed at that, but nodded, and the pair turned around to return to the ship.

 **AN:**

 **Have a fluff chapter. I don't want to just say "they set sail then they fought then they landed the end", sailing takes a while lol.**

 **I also moved Robin's little "invisible ties" speech up a bit; it just made more sense to start off the voyage with a rousing speech than it did for him to start a monologue randomly mid-voyage lol. I also obviously changed up some of the wording to fit Robin's characterization in this story, but the general gist is the same.**

 **And yes, Morene saving Ilfa is what happens at the end of Morene's campaign. Or, rather, it's one of the two outcomes; you can either kill Ilfa (who's twenty levels lower than Lucretia and thus a much easier target) or you can fight Lucretia. I always choose to save Ilfa because she's a sweetheart, and because Morene and Lucretia do** _ **not**_ **like each other lol. If you do save Ilfa, then Morene's ending states that she returns to the ruins of Vellond with Ilfa to try to salvage Valdemar's kingdom. No matter what you choose, though, the Dark Elves descend into civil war following Encablossa's resurrection.**

 **Also, the "staggered birth rate" thing is complete bs that I made up lol. I wanted to provide an explanation as to why Dark Elves use primarily female soldiers, and "Korean devs like nearly-naked women" isn't a very good reason to use in an actual narrative context lol. Given that male Dark Elves seem to hold most of the political power even though they're barely ever seen, I posit that they're more uncommonly born, and thus are able to leverage their rare ability to impregnate women for power. It's similar to how Shiagur used her rare post-genophage fertility to take power for herself during the Krogan Rebellions in Mass Effect. Bullshit, yeah, sure, but it's my bullshit and I own it proudly.**


	81. Chapter 81

**Chapter 81**

 **Voyage to Valm**

"Hey Dad! Guess what!?" Morgan said as she burst into his room without permission, as she always did. Her abrupt entrance dislodged some of the many stacks of parchment sitting around, and they added to the growing collection on the floor. _I really need to clean my cabin,_ Robin thought absently.

"Do you ever _knock_ , Morgan?" Robin said with a dry grin as he set a book down on his bedside table. It was that strange purple spellbook she'd seen him perusing every now and again. "You know, one of these days you might walk in on me and your mother, whoever she is, when we're in the process of making _you_."

"Oh gods Dad, gross!" Morgan said, pantomiming throwing up (to Robin's vocal amusement), before her cheery expression returned. "But anyway, guess what!?"

"Yarne let you pet his ears?" Robin guessed randomly.

Morgan's face took on a stormy expression. "No, Bunny still won't let me pet his ears," Morgan grumbled, before her smile returned. "But that's not it! I finally know something you don't!"

"How Severa manages to constantly be in a sour mood?" Robin guessed dryly.

"A crushing inferiority complex, especially in regards to her mother, but that's not it either!" Morgan said, before waving her hand and conjuring a large chunk of ice in midair. "Thomas taught me ice magic! And that's something you don't know!"

"Morgan, did you know that that excited expression on your face warms my heart more than even the brightest sun?" Robin asked with a smile as Morgan preened. She nodded smugly. "It's unfortunate, then, that I have to crush it." He then placed his hand over his desk a few inches in the air, and magic flared to life in his hand. Not only did he conjure ice, but he did so with so much finesse and control that he made a tiny, five-inch tall ice sculpture of Morgan riding Dean, and her eyes widened and jaw dropped. "Walter taught me all varieties of Bersian magic over a year ago," Robin sighed, heartbroken as Morgan's smile faded into oblivion and was replaced with a crestfallen look. _And thus, the clouds cover the sun._

"No!" Morgan cried petulantly. "In the future you didn't…you can't…blast!" she shouted, before crossing her arms and huffing. "I'll find _something_ that I can beat you at one of these days!"

"Well, you already beat me at being the best child a parent could ever want," Robin supplied helpfully, causing Morgan to blush.

"Yeah, I guess," Morgan grumbled, though her smile betrayed her surly attitude. Her gaze once again settled on that tome he'd been reading. "What is that tome, anyway?" she asked, gesturing to it.

"It belongs to a Grimleal witch named Aversa," Robin muttered, his voice somewhat distant now. "Walter and Phila recovered it after nearly killing her at Castle Sable. Tharja wanted nothing to do with it, and I felt…compelled to take it myself."

"Compelled? Why?" Morgan asked.

"I…I don't know for certain," Robin said with a shrug. "Remember how I told you that I think I used to be Grimleal?"

"Yeah, but I really don't believe that," Morgan argued. "I don't remember a single thing about it in my memories of you."

"That just means I was smart enough to not talk about my past involvement with a cult to my young daughter," Robin rebutted with a slight grin, before it faded. "But when I saw Aversa up close at Castle Sable, I felt a sense of…familiarity. Not the good kind, because I was still very much motivated to kill her if I had the chance, but I'm almost certain I knew her before. Even reading some of the spells in that tome, I feel like I recognize them too. Particularly an enhanced, customized version of Nosferatu that not only saps the life force of the target, but explodes like a Flux spell to deal even more damage. I just know it was penned by her hand, though I can't say why."

"At least you get those feelings of nostalgia," Morgan grumbled. "I don't feel anything! Like according to Thomas I used to idolize Lucina like an older sister, because she was a few years older than me and we spent so much time together, but when I look at her I don't feel a thing!"

Robin thought about that for a second, before an idea came to him. "Let's go talk to Tharja," he said, standing up.

"Tharja? Why?" Morgan said nervously. "She creeps me out."

"She creeps everyone out," Robins said wryly. "But I don't think our amnesia was caused by the same thing. I'm pretty certain mine was due to a head injury, because I had a splitting headache when I woke up and I still get bits and flashes, even if I can't make sense of them. But I think your missing memories had something to do with whatever was in those ruins that transported you and Thomas here, meaning it's magical in nature. And none of the Shepherds know more about magic than Tharja."

"Yeah, you're right," Morgan admitted. "But doesn't Henry or Miriel know a lot too?"

"Henry's only interested in magic that kills things," Robin chuckled, "and Miriel's academic interests are far more various than just magic, and thus her knowledge of magic specifically is actually less than Tharja's. No, if Tharja doesn't know about it, none of the other Shepherds will."

Morgan sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she grumbled. "Lead the way, Dad."

However, they didn't even make it to the door before Tharja walked in. _Why am I not surprised she was eavesdropping?_ Robin thought wryly. "No, Morgan, I can't recover your memories," she stated, actually sounding remorseful.

Morgan looked downtrodden, and Robin wrapped an arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "Are you sure, Tharja?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Tharja said. "I already looked into it while she was sleeping." Robin and Morgan simultaneously cringed at the idea of Tharja sneaking into her bedroom. "I thought if I got your memories back it would make your father happy!" Tharja said defensively, and their leery expressions lessened somewhat. "Anyway, whatever, or I suspect _whoever_ , stole your memories did a damned good job of it. The mage himself might be able to restore your memories, but that magic is beyond me."

"Damn it!" Morgan cursed, and Robin rubbed her shoulder consolingly.

"Like I said, the mage responsible should be able to undo it," Tharja offered. "If you can figure out who it was, I can _force_ them to comply," she said with a malicious grin.

While normally Robin wouldn't approve of torture in general, or subjecting anyone to the Tharja treatment specifically, he decided he could make an exception here. "You're free to do it when we find them," Robin said, giving her a malicious grin to match her own.

"Not if I kill them first," Morgan muttered bitterly. Robin frowned at the crestfallen expression on her face, and decided something must be done about it immediately.

"Want to know what I think would cheer you up?" Robin offered. Morgan looked at him, her expression hopeless. "I say we forget me meeting up with Chrom today and just go fly around for a while."

Morgan's face almost looked hopeful for a second, before it faltered. "You can't, Dad," she grumbled. "You have to meet with him about your plan to assault Valm Harbor, remember?"

"We have a whole month and a half before we get there, I think we can afford a day off for me to bring back my daughter's beautiful smile," Robin said with a grin.

Morgan's disgruntled expression slowly but surely gave way to a hopeful one. "Are you serious?" she asked quietly.

"Never been more serious," he replied, kissing her on the forehead. "Now, go saddle up the Dean Duo while I try to find out where I left my boots in this mess," he said, gesturing back toward the disaster area that was his bedroom.

"Got it, Dad!" Morgan cheered, before bolting off down the corridor so quickly that Robin was surprised the doors to the adjacent rooms weren't pulled off their hinges in her wake.

"Cute kid," Tharja muttered. "Way too much energy for her own good though."

"The cutest," Robin replied happily, before turning to the dour dark mage. "How's your own kid?"

"Better," Tharja shrugged. "Whatever curse I used on that talisman's taken a toll on her body, though. She's got a whole host of health problems that I know don't run in mine or Gaius' families. I don't think I was finished with it when I gave it to her…or I just didn't care," Tharja muttered, a foreign look of remorse on her face. "Noire says I got pretty…obsessed with avenging you and Gaius after you died. That I neglected her."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Robin mused, and Tharja promptly glared at him. "I didn't mean it that way!" Robin said quickly, and her glare toned down a single notch. "I just meant that I'm imagining you losing Gaius and I, and how you might react. You wouldn't grieve properly. You'd be angry. You'd want revenge. And as we saw with Gangrel, a Plegian with a thirst for revenge is a deadly recipe."

"I'm not Plegian," Tharja muttered, before sighing. "I suppose you're right, though," she admitted. "It wouldn't surprise me either, if I became so obsessed with revenge that I forgot my own daughter…as awful as that is to say out loud," she said quietly. She looked down for a second, before looking back up at Robin. "Am…am I a good person, Robin? I know I play up the 'dark and gloomy sorceress' thing a bit overmuch, but am I really that awful?"

Robin didn't know how to answer that immediately, and took his time responding. "Yes and no," Robin admitted, and Tharja's expression crumpled. "You're not exactly concerned with morals, Tharja, and you do have a rather sadistic side, but that doesn't make you evil, per se. Despite the way you act towards everyone else, I've seen the way you look at Gaius and Noire. You love them, even if they're the only people you'd ever admit it aloud to. Gangrel didn't know how to love. I doubt Walhart or Validar know how to love either." Robin frowned in thought as he remembered Validar's words concerning his parentage, but he shook them off. "No, you care about other people, even if it took one of them most of his life to chip away at your shell and the other was born from you. Are you a 'good person'? I wouldn't say so, not by conventional definition. But I think you're good _enough_ ," he finished. Tharja flashed him a rare smile. It was more of a smirk with teeth, but knowing how dour she was, she might as well have been Cherche while she was threatening to have Virion eaten by Minerva. Or Frederick when he was training Donny. _It's fitting that all of my comparisons to smiles involve sadism,_ Robin thought dryly.

"Thanks, Robin," Tharja said gratefully. "You always know just what to say."

"What else are friends for?" he said with a grin. "Now, I've got to go flying with my daughter. I've noticed Noire trying to mimic you when you practice your dark magic. Why don't you go teach her?"

" _That's_ what she was doing?" Tharja said incredulously. "I thought it was some other bizarre side effect of that talisman…" she trailed off for a second, before grinning evilly. "Oh, this is going to be good…or very, very _bad_." She then stalked off, muttering under her breath and occasionally chuckling darkly.

"Never change, Tharja," Robin said to himself with a laugh, before going back into his cabin to find his damned boots.

000

Walter knocked on Kendal's cabin door, and his friend promptly shouted to enter. Walter obliged, opening the door just as Kendal replaced his faceplate.

"How do you fare, Kendal?" Walter asked pleasantly as he walked in.

"The same as ever, old friend," Kendal replied just as pleasantly. "Though I'm afraid I was never quite made for sailing; I keep losing my balance. I suppose my cot is comfortable enough to sit on all day, but I still could do without nearly tripping every time the ship moves," he said, patting the surface of the cot.

"It might have something to do with constantly wearing your armor," Walter pointed out with a chuckle. He himself was only wearing his usual blue tunic, though he had his mace as ever. "I know you're fond of it, but it isn't necessary to wear it all day, every day, is it?"

"Actually, Walter…it is," Kendal said, shifting about nervously.

Walter frowned as he sat down in Kendal's spare chair. "What do you mean by that?" Walter asked curiously.

"You recall my mentioning that I absorbed Encablossa's power?" Kendal asked, and Walter nodded. "It came with a heavy price." Before Walter could question exactly what the price was, Kendal began removing his gauntlet. As it came loose and dropped to the floor of the cabin, Walter gasped.

Kendal had always been pale; all the more so once they'd graduated basic combat training and he practically began living in his armor. He was as white as fresh fallen snow. But when his gauntlet fell off, Kendal had darker skin than just about anybody but Khan Basilio. To his shock and horror, there were also patches of sickly, purple flesh here and there. It almost looked like bruising, but it had a more…malignant look to it, to Walter's eyes.

"Toward the end of my journey, Encablossa approached me with a deal," Kendal stated grimly as Walter stared at his hand. "That if I would champion him, like Regnier unwillingly used to, I would be granted great power. He knew that I had stopped his mutation process before it could take root, and sought to circumvent my safeguards. Encablossa ever searches for more slaves to pit against the Age of Light. Unfortunately for him, I knew it would not succeed. Moonlight was very thorough in his work. I accepted the deal, hoping to weaken Encablossa as he gave his power to me and enable our party's escape. Though I retain my free will and my sanity, my body was not so fortunate despite the safeguards, and has mutated, though to a far lesser degree than it would have without the safeguards. I am nearly as strong as Regnier himself now, but as you can see, my body has not easily accepted what has been done to it."

"Does…does it hurt?" Walter asked uneasily as Kendal picked up his gauntlet and replaced it.

"Yes," Kendal replied. "Every minute of every day. Those purple spots you see are the worst of it. But even now they slowly fade, and I have hope that one day I shall be fully recovered…though I believe the darker skin tone is a permanent feature. I'm not quite sure how to feel about it."

"How do you fight, if you are in such pain?" Walter asked in awe. If the frequency of the spots on his hands were any indicator, Kendal must be covered in them.

"As our drill instructor once told us, 'pain is an abstract, and all abstracts can be ignored'," Kendal chuckled. "It becomes all the easier when your pain slowly decreases with each passing day. When I first returned to Bersia I was nearly bedridden for a month as my body slowly readjusted to being back in the Age of Light, combined with the pain of my mutation. My body was monstrous to behold then, and I began wearing my armor constantly to hide my rather hideous appearance. I still apparently unnerve those who do not know me, should they see me without my armor on. But, I am healing. In fact, I suspect that by the end of this campaign, I might very well be fully healed."

"I am glad to hear it," Walter said with relief. "That was a dangerous gamble, Kendal."

"But a necessary one," Kendal rebutted. "Had Encablossa not wasted so much power trying to mutate me, he might have prevented our escape entirely. It is hard to escape the realm of a demon when said realm is within the demon's own mind."

Walter shuddered at the thought of being trapped within Encablossa's mind. "I would have broken long before I escaped, had our positions been reversed."

"I doubt it," Kendal chuckled. "Now, while you're here, Robin introduced me to this strategy game he devised. Would you care to test your wits against mine in honorable combat, my old friend?" He then reached over into his drawer and pulled out said strategy game.

Walter simply smiled. "Of course, old friend," Walter said, before Kendal began setting it up. His smile faded a bit as he thought about the last time they'd been on opposite sides of a battlefield. About how much had been lost that day... At those thoughts, however, Walter felt a small, almost…angry spike of warmth from Justino's ring. _Right, don't dwell on it,_ Walter thought amusedly, before taking his first piece and moving it across the board.

000

"Pardon me, Queen Sumia, but I have a question," Thomas said suddenly. He was waiting for Morgan to return from her flight with her dad to continue their lessons with Bersian magic. She had apparently had hopes for recovering her memories dashed and her father was taking her flying to console her. Thomas felt for the poor girl, though he wasn't certain she should really regain all her memories…

"What about, Thomas?" Sumia asked politely, pulling his thoughts back from a future past. She was standing with Phila and Cordelia, all of them preparing to go on their regular patrols.

"It's about your pegasus, Your Majesty," Thomas stated. "And, I suppose about you as well. Er, perhaps it is a warning of sorts?"

"Go on," Sumia responded curiously.

"I knew you and Lady Sedgar but for a short time in the future, milady," Thomas began. "I was found wounded in the Great Forest by Lady Sedgar a short few months before Grima's resurrection." His expression briefly turned distant and rather grim at that, but he continued before anyone could say anything. "But I noticed that you appear to have a different pegasus now than you did back then… will have in the future…do I speak about the future in past tense or future tense?" he muttered absently.

"Past tense is fine," Sumia responded. "I told Lucina to speak of it in past tense, because it is behind us now and it will not happen again!" she said confidently.

"A wonderful attitude to have, Your Majesty," Thomas said with a smile.

"You said she had a different pegasus?" Phila asked stiffly. Thomas then remembered her first mount had died at Castle Plegia, by Lucina's account. Thomas felt awful for conjuring up those memories.

"Yes," Thomas said gravely. "Her current mount is white, like most pegasi, yet the one she had in the future was pitch black."

At that, all three pegasus knights turned pale, and the two senior ones turned to their Queen in shock.

"Say that again?" Sumia asked, her face full of dread.

"Er…it was pitch black?" Thomas repeated, and Sumia's face turned to outright horror. The other two audibly gasped at that. "I…I admit to being confused now," Thomas said weakly as they glanced back and forth between each other, with Sumia's composure quickly deteriorating. "I know the implications are bad, but it could simply be that your mount was injured and could no longer be ridden into battle?"

"What was her name?" Sumia asked, almost too quiet to hear.

"Er…do you really want to know?" Thomas asked nervously as Sumia's eyes started to glisten.

"What was her name, Thomas!?" Sumia practically screeched, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye and shaking him roughly by his shoulders.

"Good Lord!" Thomas yelped as she continued shaking him. "Caeda, Your Majesty, her name was Caeda! You told me that she was named for the Hero-King's bride!"

To Thomas' utter bewilderment, Sumia quite suddenly released him then, before collapsing to her knees and beginning to sob terribly.

"Y-your Majesty," Thomas muttered as Phila rushed forward to comfort her. "I'm sorry for your loss, I didn't mean to-"

"It's not that, Thomas," Cordelia muttered quietly as she walked up, before gently grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the stairs. "Come with me and I will explain." Thomas nodded numbly and allowed Cordelia to pull him away, as Sumia continued sobbing.

"I didn't mean to upset Her Majesty like that," Thomas muttered regretfully once they'd moved up to Deck 2. "I'm rather surprised by it, truth be told. In the future, she was a much harder woman. I never saw her look anything but determined and occasionally angry until…well, until she and her husband both died."

"I don't doubt that," Cordelia muttered bitterly as they exited earshot of the sobbing Queen. "Given what happened to Caeda, something terrible must have happened to Sumia, to the point where she'd..." she trailed off then, muttering under her breath in alternating tones of horror, disgust, and pity.

"Er, Future-Queen Sumia's mount was perfectly healthy when last I saw it, if a bit…unruly at times," Thomas said, now confused. He was definitely missing something. "She outlived her rider by quite a few years."

"That's not what I meant," Cordelia stated. "Do you know about Erinys, Captain Phila's current mount?"

"Ah, yes," Thomas said, glad for a change of subject. "Apparently it was warped by dark magic. I heard it was feral, hostile, and that my father and Robin cured it using a combination of dark magic and Bersian holy magic." He admitted that he was actually rather impressed by that, but would never tell anyone.

"That's correct," Cordelia nodded, before her face turned grim. "Sumia never got a new mount in the future, Thomas. The pegasus down there _is_ Caeda."

"But…what?" Thomas asked, utterly confused now. Then the pieces clicked into place. "Are you saying that Her Majesty corrupted her own pegasus with dark magic!?" Thomas cried in shock.

"Not necessarily dark magic," Cordelia said, though her expression was still torn between disgust at the idea and worry for Sumia. "It could have been anima magic as well. It may not have even been intentional; she could have simply just used too much anima magic around her at some point. But all pure pegasi are white, Thomas. Are you _sure_ it was Caeda?"

"Yes," Thomas said, feeling quite guilty now for having unintentionally let Sumia know that she violated her own mount's health and well being. He knew from listening to Cynthia how intertwined a rider was to her mount, and how adversely they were affected by the rider using non-light magic, and hadn't pieced it together before. He did now, however. "Her Majesty called her by name several times. As did her…new rider," Thomas said evasively, remembering Lucina's resolution to not give away any of the others in case they did not want to be found.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at that. "A new rider?" she asked curiously. A very pointed kind of curiosity.

"After Her Majesty's tragic death, Caeda was given to another Pegasus Knight," Thomas said with as even an expression as he could muster. "Grima's resurrection, and the chaos following it, led to the near-extinction of pegasi in Ylisse. I know that you cannot simply break a pegasus as one would a horse, but it seems that they knew how dire the circumstances were, and were quite amenable to accepting new riders if it increased their chances of survival. I even knew a couple of male riders…for a brief time," he muttered grimly. It was not a lie; everything he said was the truth. Leaving out Cynthia's presence specifically was an omission of truth, certainly, but he did not lie.

Cordelia's face blanched at that. "Gods, Thomas…I had no idea…"

"The future was Hell, simply put," Thomas said gravely, before a determined look came over his face. "But it will not come again! The Lord watches over us all, milady, and with His guidance and grace, we cannot fail!" he declared.

Cordelia simply laughed at that, and Thomas turned a bit red. "What is so funny?" he asked. "I'm being serious!"

"I know that," Cordelia giggled, before looking nervous. "That's what I find so funny. It's just that…well…please do not take this the wrong way, but you reminded me so much of your father there for a second that I nearly believed I was talking to him instead."

Thomas' look turned dark, and Cordelia paled as she prepared to be berated, but to her surprise, Thomas sighed. "Thank you, milady," he ground out, surprising her further. "Despite my issues with my father, I know that he somehow managed to leave a positive impression on all of you. Perhaps by using whatever vestiges remain of the man he was before my mother's death. I know you meant it as a compliment."

Cordelia smiled at that. "You're welcome, Thomas," she said. He still looked rather uncomfortable, however, so she decided to change the subject. "You say that I was the one who found you in the future?"

Thomas finally smiled at that. "Ah, yes," he chuckled. "As you undoubtedly know, I was cut off from Sir Kendal inside Encablossa. I was the last one left standing, and on the brink of death, when the Heart was destroyed. I know not how or why I was transported to Ylisse instead of being sealed away in the Dark Dimension like the others, but I was quite rudely dropped near the edge of the Great Forest. I tried to find some sort of aid, but my wounds were too severe, and I succumbed after only a few minutes of walking, just a stone's throw from the tree line. I remember seeing something descending on me as I lost consciousness. When I woke up, it was in Castle Ylisstol, with you hovering over me with a staff."

"I am glad to have been of service," Cordelia said with a smile.

Thomas smiled back. "It was then that I learned where I was. I was a bit…disoriented, at first, but with no leads back to Bersia, I was forced to remain in Ylisse. Though to say 'forced' is a bit of an exaggeration; I quite enjoyed my first three or four months there. In truth, it was the only real peace I'd ever known. The war with Valm had finished half a year prior, so the citizens of Ylisse were just getting acquainted with it after nearly a decade of war as well."

"What were we like?" Cordelia asked curiously. She'd asked Severa these questions, but she'd quickly grown irritable as she was wont to do, and Cordelia hadn't pressed the issue. Thomas, however, was much more amenable to talking about the future. "The Shepherds, that is."

"You were all…polite, but somewhat cold," Thomas mused. "You were certainly not the lively bunch you seem to be in this time. I can only imagine that enduring thirteen years of near-constant war would wear on anybody. You were all kind to me, though. Perhaps not so much Lady Maribelle; it seems she was fated to be unsociable." They shared a laugh at that. "I was also quite fond of you personally, if you don't mind me saying so. You were always so kind, almost doting. The only person you lavished more attention and praise on was Severa."

"I was a good mother to her?" Cordelia asked. Thomas noted the hopeful, almost desperate tone in her voice.

"The best a girl could hope for," Thomas said with a nod, and Thomas could see her visibly deflate with relief. Thomas frowned, then, as he realized that Cordelia must have been feeling under pressure due to Severa's abrasiveness, feeling that she wasn't a good enough mother to Severa, when nothing could be farther from the truth. "In fact, my first serious conversation with Severa was how she should stop being so rude to you, when you so clearly loved her. She would constantly complain to or about you, and you would bend over backwards to accommodate her, but it was never good enough for her." Thomas' voice turned quiet then. "One day she nearly had you in tears before you left on a mission, and I confronted her about it. I was awful, petty, still dealing with my own issues with my parents, and I told her she didn't deserve you, I…I even told her that I wished she knew what it was like to lose her parents like I had, so she'd know how good she had it. A week later, when the Shepherds returned from their mission carrying news of the Fell Dragon's return and the bodies of Vaike, Nowi, Gregor, Sir Sedgar, and yourself, along with Falchion, Sumia's spear, and Miriel's hat, I choked on the bitterness of my own words." He hung his head in shame, remembering how Severa had broken down in front of everyone when her parents' bodies were brought before her.

"Thomas," Cordelia said seriously, and Thomas braced for the worst. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly, surprising him, and he looked up to see a sad smile on her face. "You were simply doing what you thought was right, even if you went about it the wrong way. You were defending me from what you perceived was unjust treatment."

"Yet Severa still suffered all the more for it," Thomas said bitterly, clenching his fists in self loathing. "She wouldn't talk to me for nearly a year after that unless it was to coordinate to fight off the Risen. The next two were spent constantly being berated by her. Eventually, our fight for survival fostered a tentative friendship, but even today I feel guilty for what I said. I never even really apologized."

"Then do so now," Cordelia shot a brief glance over his shoulder and her eyes widened slightly, but Thomas didn't notice it.

Thomas, however, wasn't so thrilled with the idea. "I'd…best not," Thomas said hesitantly. "Severa's only just been reunited with you; the last thing I need to be doing is dredging up the deaths of her parents. Perhaps on another day…"

"Let's say that you were going to apologize to her right now," Cordelia said randomly. "What would you say?"

"I…I don't know," Thomas said with a shrug. "Why does it matter? I'll think on it a while, then go apologize."

"Thinking on it won't make it any more or less sincere," Cordelia rebutted. "Your apology must come from the heart, and your heart will not change by waiting a few days or weeks. I just want to know what you'd say to her if she were standing here instead of me."

 _Where is she going with this?_ Thomas wondered. "Well, I suppose that I'd…I'd say I was sorry, obviously," He said lamely, before laughing at himself. "I mean, I suppose that's underwhelming, but it's the truth. I'm so terribly, awfully sorry for what I did to her. I'd tell her that I never meant what I said, that I was just being an angry, stupid child who couldn't work past his issues with his own father and I projected it onto her. I'd tell her that I never truly wished her parents had died, or that she would know the pain I felt. That despite her…prickliness, she didn't deserve to have that happen. And I'd tell her that she grew into a wonderful woman, despite her hardships, and that it is an honor to fight alongside her."

Cordelia gave him a paradoxically warm and devious smile as he finished and nodded her head upward, gesturing behind him. When he turned around, his face turned pale as he saw the crimson haired, twin-tailed woman herself standing there, staring at the ground and shaking slightly, her fists clenched.

"S-Severa," Thomas said weakly. "Uh…hi?" Severa didn't answer immediately, and Thomas moved closer. "Severa, are you-"

"You _idiot_!" she roared, and her fist collided with his face so fast that he nearly fell over. He rubbed his jaw as he regained his balance, and wilted under Severa's furious glare. "Why didn't you just say that before!? Gawds, you're dense! You've been tiptoeing around it for six years now! I'm a grown woman, you know, I can accept an apology gracefully! But nooooooo, you…you just…" she trailed off, before sniffling.

"I'm sorry, Severa," Thomas said sincerely, before surprising the girl by hugging her. "I'm so terribly sorry for making you wait this long for a proper apology. There's no need to cry."

"I'm not crying, you idiot!" she snapped, writhing free of his embrace. "It just smells like wyvern dung on this deck and I'm allergic to it! You know that!" Thomas did not know that, and the sailors kept this deck quite clean, the brave souls. "Your apology and my wet eyes and runny nose are completely unrelated!"

"Of course, Severa," Thomas said with a smile as Severa's anger abated, and she started sniffling again and staring at the ground. "Why don't I…uh…why don't I go see if your father can whip up a remedy for those allergies?"

"Wow, you actually had a good idea for once," she drawled, though her voice was thick. "Why don't you go do that?"

"Right away," Thomas said, before quickly striding away as Severa's sniffling increased. He turned around just once as he began climbing the stairs to Deck 1, and watched as Cordelia embraced her daughter comfortingly. Cordelia shot him a soft smile and nodded once. Thomas nodded back, and continued up the stairs to find Stahl as quickly as possible. After all, allergies were serious business.

 **AN:**

 **Another fluff chapter, with some mild exposition dump.**

 **Morgan sees Tharja about getting her memories back and gets shot down. Poor Morgan :(**

 **I decided to give Tharja some character development that she sorely, sorely lacks. It always bothered me that not a single one of her supports has her seriously questioning the validity of her fucked up behavior. Even when it involves her own husband and daughter.**

 **I finally figured out a thing to do with the whole "Cordelia's wiki page being a recommended view on Thomas' wiki page" thing that I mentioned a while back, by making her the one who found him. The fight with Severa just seems like something that would naturally occur, given their personalities.**


	82. Chapter 82

**Chapter 82**

 **Flames on the Blue**

"Admiral Ignatius, sir, the Ylissean League has been sighted!" His yeoman called from near the just-landed Pegasus Knight scouts.

"How many?" Ignatius responded curtly. He was a middle aged, refined-featured, balding straw-haired man wearing the red uniform he'd spent his entire life earning, with a cutlass at his waist. The sun setting behind him cast an intimidating glow around him, not that he needed the extra help; his hawkish gaze, reputation as the unequivocally best naval strategist in the Empire, and no-nonsense attitude had long since instilled a proper fear and respect into his sailors.

"Their ships match ours in number," his yeoman responded, "but the Pegasus Knights claim that they look to be undermanned. They claim the ships appear to be half full at best."

Ignatius frowned at that. _By that Regnier's report, the Hironeiden Army allied with the Ylisseans,_ Ignatius thought suspiciously. _Why would they not at least attempt to ferry some of their troops over? Do they not get along? Or is there some other reason?_ "Have you noticed anything…unusual about their ships, knight?" Ignatius said, addressing the Pegasus Knight Captain directly.

"They do not appear to be carrying ballistae or catapults," she responded, "but there look to be several small hatches on the lower decks of their ships. My lieutenant and I believe that they're going to attempt a fire attack with archers from those hatches once we close into boarding range."

Ignatius shook his head. The Ylisseans were either desperate or stupid if that was the case. He knew of Admiral Bahar by reputation; why would that man allow such a reckless move? "Do they seek to burn both of our fleets?" Ignatius wondered aloud, before grunting. "No matter. Extend an invitation to parlay. Emperor Walhart and Lord Regnier both wish to allow our enemies one chance to surrender, and we are duty-bound to obey. If they do not surrender and I am assassinated, you are to close to boarding range and seize their vessels. Order the ships to douse their hulls to render their suspected fire attack ineffective."

"Right away, Admiral!" The Pegasus Knight said with a salute, before her squadron took to the air to relay his orders to the fleet. Without him needing to pass the order himself, his men raised a white flag to signal parlay. His ship, the _Emperor's Fist_ , began sailing forward without escort. Not that that concerned him; The _Spirit of Fernand_ and _Beloved Zofia_ would easily be able to come to his aid if these Ylisseans proved to be without honor. Once they were taken care of, his soldiers would easily seize the Plegian fleet, crippling Archanea's ability to launch a counter-strike and doubling the size of the Empire's Navy instantly.

"The sea is my home," he mused aloud as he noticed one of the captured vessels from the torch party that now belonged to the Ylisseans, the _Legacy of Berkut_ , begin moving forward. "And today, it shall become your grave, Ylisseans."

000

"So, we assassinate this 'Admiral Ignatius'," Kendal concluded for the Shepherds at large as Robin finished relaying the plan as the _Legacy of Berkut_ began sailing forward to meet the enemy leader's call to parlay, "And then we retreat to the fleet to…do what, exactly?"

"Don't want to spoil the surprise," Robin said with a wink, to disapproving glares from most of the Shepherds. Kendal noticed that Walter, Miriel, Chrom, and Gregor didn't seem at all displeased with the lack of information; they obviously knew more than they let on. Morene was also unperturbed, but Kendal doubted she had an expression other than boredom or disdain at all.

"Whatever you say, Grandmaster," Kendal said lightly, chuckling at the frown that now adorned Robin's face. _If he stopped hating his job so much, he'd be rather good at it,_ Kendal thought amusedly.

"Alright, so here's the plan for the battle itself," Robin continued. "It's pretty standard; armor in front, light armor behind, mages and archers in back. General Kendal, take Walter and Thomas for the front rank on the left plank. Chrom, Lucina, Cirith, Ilfa, Severa, you're behind them. Once they break through to the ship, surge past them and engage at your discretion. Noire, Henry, Tharja, Morene, Lissa, you're their ranged support. Sully, you, Kjelle, and Kellam are the front rank on the right plank. Gaius, Lon'qu, Glen, Donnel, Vaike, you're behind them. Virion, Miriel, Laurent, Maribelle, Ricken, you're their ranged support. Libra, you're in charge of the wounded; pull any of our healers from the ranks as you see fit to assist you, but try not to pull our two armored healers unless it's a last resort. Frederick, your family and Stahl are going to charge through whichever flank breaks first, or provide support if we're pushed back. Cherche, you're with me, if our infantry have trouble breaking through, we're going to break their ranks. Until then, we're deferring to Morgan for this battle. Morgan, you're in charge of our aerial units, which would mean us, Captain Phila, Captain Cordelia, Queen Sumia, Nowi, and Nah."

"I'm in charge of the aerial units!?" Morgan cried out in shock.

"You're committing both taguel to battle!?" Yarne cried out in terror. "But if we both die, we'll go extinct!"

"You're making me work with my father!?" Thomas shouted indignantly, clearly upset at the arrangements.

"I can't see how anything could possibly go wrong," Morene said dryly as she thought about the troop placements. Following that, several others began shouting their own displeasures at the arrangement.

"Enough!" Walter barked, silencing the growing protests, most notably and vocally from the future children.

"Yes, enough indeed," Robin said sourly, narrowing his eyes at those protesting, before turning to Morgan. "Yes, I'm putting you in charge of the aerial units. Consider it a final exam," he stated shortly as Morgan stared at him, flabbergasted, before turning to the others. "Morene, shut up. If I want your input, I'll ask Ilfa to filter it first. You're not my advisor and I'm not inclined to listen to your mouth." Morene's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond. "Severa, quit being such a bitch for five minutes. I'm not putting you in the front ranks because you don't have three to five millimeters of steel separating you from some Valmese' lance, and your mother would kill me slowly and painfully if a single hair on your head was harmed because I just casually threw you at the front to sate your ego. Deal with it." Severa's faced turned a rather violent shade of red and she bared her teeth at him in rage, but Robin turned to the next person in line before she could properly respond. "Laurent, I realize that I made you quartermaster and you weren't expecting to be thrust into battle, but if you're half the mage your mother is we'll be damned lucky to have you. Take this as a lesson to keep up on your physical training from now on." Laurent nodded nervously at that. "Thomas, _grow up._ You spout on about duty and honor and whatnot, and the _second_ I give you an assignment you don't like you start complaining? I realize you didn't have much of a childhood, but right now isn't the time to have it. You are working with your father, whether you like it or not." Thomas glared at Robin, but the Grandmaster didn't even seem to care as he turned to Yarne. "And Yarne, I realize-"

"Did you learn nothing from me!?" Panne interrupted, whirling around on her son with a vicious fury that immediately had the timid half-taguel cowering in terror. Hell, it had everyone within her reach stepping back nervously. "Did you not pay attention during our first battle together? It is not the way of the taguel to cower in fear while man-spawn do all of the work for us! You _will_ fight, Yarne, or so help me I will kill you myself. If we both die today, then the taguel shall be remembered as warriors, not as cravens hiding in a storeroom! We will _earn_ our place in this world, not beg for it from the hands of those who took our race from us!"

"Y-yes, Mother," Yarne squeaked.

"Well then… now that that's settled, any other objections?" Robin called out. Nobody answered. "Good, now get to your positions, their Admiral's almost here and we don't want to look like a bunch of idiots in front of our guests, do we?" With little further ado, the soldiers began making their way into the prescribed formations. Kendal, however, noted curiously that Severa was still glaring at the Grandmaster and his daughter. Not out of anger at his dismissal of whatever concerns she had, but…suspicion? Genuine hatred? Kendal's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet. The future children knew something. Something regarding the Grandmaster or his daughter. But what?

"General?" Lucina asked as she walked by, noticing how he hadn't even started to move. "Are you alright?"

 _Just the person to talk to,_ Kendal thought with satisfaction. "I am well enough, Princess," Kendal replied quietly. "It is your friends' obvious distrust of the Grandmaster and his daughter that should be your concern." Kendal didn't bother suppressing the victorious smile under his helmet as Lucina paled.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," Lucina said stoically. _If it were anyone else, she might have even convinced them._

"I'm sure you do know what I'm talking about," Kendal replied barely above a whisper, ensuring not even those among them with more advanced senses could hear him. "I cannot force you to divulge whatever information your group is hiding Princess, but heed me well: if you know something, act on it before it is too late." Without waiting for Lucina to respond, he turned and walked over to the formation in front of where the left boarding plank would be extended once the "negotiation" was over.

"Kendal," Walter greeted roughly. Kendal didn't take his tone to heart; Walter always got like that right before a battle.

"Walter," Kendal said lightly in return, before taking the center of the line, between him and Thomas. "Are you prepared to go into glorious combat together once more?"

Walter chuckled at that. "Always, old friend."

Kendal then turned to Thomas, who was trying his utmost to completely ignore the both of them. Kendal frowned beneath his helmet; he hadn't spoken to Thomas since their reunion at Port Ferox, when he'd thoroughly lambasted Walter in front of everyone. He suspected Thomas held little more positive regard for him than he did his father. "And what of you, Thomas?" Kendal asked politely. "Are you ready to go into glorious combat alongside your old commander?"

Thomas turned to him with a stoic expression. "I suppose I am, General," he said evenly

 _Just as hard to read as his father._ "I missed you, Thomas," Kendal admitted, causing a brief look of surprise to flit across his face before the stoic mask slipped back on. "And not just because donning my own armor is a nuisance. You were a hardier warrior and more faithful man than most of the men I've known in my life, and it seems time has only seen you grow into a greater man. It is a pleasure to fight alongside you once more."

Thomas' stoic visage slowly faded and was replaced with a small smile. "The feeling is mutual, General," he replied.

Kendal laughed lightly as the opposing flagship pulled up next to theirs. "Now, we have a ship to defend. Let's get to it."

"Ylisseans!" the enemy commander shouted from the helm, "I am Admiral Ignatius of the Imperial Navy! Emperor Walhart bade me give you one chance to surrender. I suggest you take it."

"Archanea's sovereignty will not be violated!" Chrom shouted from his position behind Kendal. "We decline your offer, and demand you turn back to your shores and convince your Emperor to give up on his delusions of grandeur!"

"King Chrom himself?" Ignatius said, idly stroking his chin. "What an arrogant pup, to be leading your own troops into such an unimportant battle. Do you think nothing of what might happen if you were slain here? Today you'll learn the meaning of humility…if you survive! Prepare to board!" he barked to his men, a full company of armored knights.

"Prepare to be boarded!" Chrom called out in response as the Valmese hoisted thick, wide wooden planks into the air by one end. A second later, the three-man-wide boarding planks slammed down on the edge of the _Legacy of Berkut_ , hooks digging into the decks to secure them. Without delay, Valmese troops began crossing, marching in formation with their lances held before them.

"Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter and Thomas cried out simultaneously. They both jumped a bit and shot each other sheepish looks, even as those around them laughed a little.

"Feel the wrath of the Divine!" Kendal snarled once he deemed the Valmese had crossed far enough, before leaping forward and swinging his hammer at the middle knight. It struck him with such force that it not only crushed his breastplate, but sent the man sprawling into the man behind him, pinning the second man beneath the now-deceased first man's armored corpse. Kendal batted aside the lance from the knight next to his opponent, only for that knight to collapse while screaming in pain, his armor practically melting on him as Thomas' fireball connected. A second later, Walter charged shield-first into the knight on his left who'd been preparing his own thrust, batting him off the edge of the ramp and into the waves below. With that, the Shepherds on the other plank charged forward, and battle was truly had.

Kendal had to give the Valmese credit; they were well trained. Their lance thrusts were expertly placed, and they covered for one another quite well. Alas, it meant nothing in the face of the three Ecclesians' relentless assault, and slowly but surely, they were being pushed back. Quite suddenly, however, a fireball quite nearly took Kendal's head from his shoulders, and he looked forward to see that the Valmese had a few sages with them.

"Ward!" Walter barked out. A second later a thin, translucent film of magic enveloped the air in front of them; looking back, Kendal saw Lissa and Libra pointing their staves in their direction. "Mages, counter-fire!" the mages behind them then cast their spells, dark magic and anima magic combining violently to create a chain reaction that flattened the front of the Valmese lines. More soldiers stepped forward to take their place, however, and Kendal frowned. They would never make progress at this rate, especially as the enemy sages conjured their own ward over their troops, and more Valmese began ascending from the lower decks to fill in the ranks.

000

Robin, from his position behind all of them, saw this too. He turned to Morene, who had just finished casting a rather powerful dark magic spell. "Hey, Morene," he said.

"Oh, do you actually _want_ my opinion now?" Morene said icily, even as she cast another spell. It shattered against the enemy ward, and she frowned.

"Yes," Robin said, not rising to her bait. "Back in the Coliseum, Leinhart cast a spell that summoned this dense, black fog. Can you do the same?" Morene shot him a withering glare at the mention of the other Half-Vampire, but nodded. "Will their ward block it?"

"Unlikely," Morene stated. "It seems more suited to stopping destructive magic and focused curses than cancelling any variety of magic, especially the inherently harmless sort. Dark Mist _should_ work as intended."

"Will we be able to see through it?" Robin asked.

Morene shrugged, even as she fruitlessly cast another spell at the ward and growled in irritation. "Not everyone. Ilfa and Cirith should be able to see through it just fine with their enhanced senses, and I can create an…exception of sorts for a few of our troops, but on the whole practically everyone will be blinded."

"Can you make Cherche, me, and our wyverns those 'exceptions'?" Robin asked.

Morene instantly saw where he was going with it, and gave a toothy grin. "I certainly can. I would suggest that you break the right flank open first; your Ylissean knights appear to be struggling more than the Ecclesians."

"Right," Robin stated before jumping onto Dean, Cherche jumping onto Minerva immediately after. "Cordelia, go tell Gregor to attack once that 'Dark Mist' is cast."

"Right away," Cordelia said smartly, before bolting below deck.

"Finally putting those Dwarven toys of yours to good use?" Morene said, smirking as Robin frowned. "Don't look so surprised; I could smell the gunpowder from the deck above."

"Right, enhanced senses," Robin muttered as Cordelia returned. "Go ahead and cast when you're ready. Dispel it once we've broken their ranks."

000

Kendal parried yet another swing sent his way, before knocking the man clear off the plank with a side-swipe from his hammer. He had somehow drifted to the left and switched places with Walter, so now father and son were fighting alongside each other. Despite their issues, they seemed to be devastatingly effective together; Kendal hoped one day they might reconcile. His musings were cut short, however, as the light seemed to dim.

"What in the…Dark Mist!" Kendal shouted as the Shepherds backed up, as did the Valmese. Within seconds, the entire Valmese ship and half of the planks were enveloped in the Dark Mist. Sounds of battle ceased on both planks, and the confused and fearful muttering of the Valmese caught within could be heard.

"What is Morene thinking?" Thomas cried out incredulously as he pointed to where Morene was lowering her arm from casting the spell. "She knows we can't see through it any better than the enemy!"

"Just watch," Cirith said from behind them, pointing up to where a pair of wyverns were disappearing into the cloud. Silence reigned for several seconds, before a pair of roars sounded.

"Shock and awe!" came Robin's enthusiastic voice. Kendal craned his eyes toward the source, just in time to see a muted flash of lightning, and the airborne bodies of several men sent flying by whatever spell he'd cast. A half second later, a jet of flame poured throughout the Dark Mist, and the screaming of burning men could be heard. Another second passed and Kendal watched in mild amusement as Cherche burst out of the Dark Mist above the other plank, trailing fire from Minerva's maw, with a pair of Valmese knights clutched in her talons, who were promptly dropped into the ocean. The two then flew away, toward where young Morgan was directing their airborne units against the Pegasus Knights who had been sent to reinforce the command ship when battle broke out.

Before Kendal could say or do anything, however, a loud thud sounded below him as the invasion ramp was lowered. Peering down curiously, he was surprised to see Gregor standing there, with- _Oh, Robin, you clever dog,_ Kendal thought in incredulous amusement. He had somehow gotten a hold of the schematics for the primary armament of a Bomber Wing, repurposed them into small artillery pieces, and had eight of them pointed at the side of the Valmese flagship.

"Now, to face maker!" Gregor roared, before lighting the fuse on the weapon he was next to, the other Ylissean soldiers following suit. A half second later, eight resounding blasts pierced Kendal's eardrums, and the cannonfire shredded open the side of the Valmese ship. His own Paladins, who by his suggestion had been escorting the command staff on the ship, then cast lightning spells into the holes created by the cannons. The screaming of men could be heard as the lightning spells cooked the men in the lower decks of the Valmese ship alive. The Paladins did not stop there, however; they continued casting, even as the cannons reloaded and blew apart another section of the deck.

"Forward!" Chrom roared enthusiastically as the Dark Mist began clearing, revealing the completely disordered Valmese lines. "For Ylisse!"

"For Ylisse!" The Shepherds shouted, before rushing forward and laying into the disrupted Valmese lines. Disoriented and wounded, the Valmese struggled to counter as the Shepherds tore into them like a pack of wolves.

"Cower, Valmese!" Thomas boasted about ten feet away as he cracked one knight's skull with his mace, and the two others alongside him turned and fled. "You should have known better than to invade Ylisse!"

Kendal however, paled as he noticed what Thomas didn't. "Thomas, behind you!" he called out in fear. Thomas turned and paled as he saw what Kendal did: the Valmese knight standing over him, his axe already raised. Kendal couldn't get there in time. Thomas couldn't block in time. Kendal's mind screamed at him to do something, but he knew nothing could be done. Thomas was going to die.

Or he would have, if not for Walter.

Even as the Valmese knight brought his axe down, Thomas was pushed out of the way, and there was a sickening crunch as the knight's axe buried itself into Walter's collarbone, where he had nothing but chainmail to protect him. As the Valmese knight wrenched his axe from Walter's kneeling body and turned back to a now prone Thomas, Kendal felt something within him snap, and felt the unholy power he'd been given flare to life. Before even he knew it, the Valmese knight was lifted into the air by one hand by his neck, his hands clawing fruitlessly against Kendal's vice-like grip. It almost felt like he was watching someone else through his own eyes as he slowly crushed the man's throat beneath in his hand. Once the man's struggling ceased and his breathing stopped, Kendal dropped the lifeless body to the deck. Chrom and Lucina flowed around him, eyeing him and the small wisps of black fog leaking from the joints in his armor nervously as they charged into the remaining Valmese.

"Why!?" Thomas shouted to his right. Turning away from the dead knight, he turned to see Thomas kneeling beside his father's body, casting a healing spell into the wound. It was sealing slowly, and Walter seemed to be struggling to stay conscious. "Why would you take that hit for me?"

"Because you're my son," Walter answered hoarsely, before finally losing consciousness.

"Thomas, get your father to Libra," Kendal stated as Thomas continued trying desperately to heal his wound.

"I have this under control, General," Thomas stated absently as he ignored Kendal's order and continued his work. "I won't let him die. Not until I get a real answer."

"I don't doubt that," Kendal said kindly, gently pulling a reluctant Thomas to his feet, "but Libra is a far more skilled healer than you, and a battlefield is not the place to treat such a grievous wound."

"I…you're right," Thomas sighed in defeat, before gently hefting his father's unconscious body onto his shoulder. "I will be back momentarily," he promised.

"I will be waiting," Kendal replied, before Thomas turned and began carrying his father away as fast as he could. Kendal then turned back to the Valmese, a snarl forming beneath his helmet. _They will pay with their blood,_ he swore, before storming through the battlefield, heading straight for where Chrom and Lucina were dueling with the enemy Admiral. Few tried to stop him, and those brave souls were quickly extinguished.

000

"The enemy Pegasus Knights are disengaging, Robin!" Cherche called out. Shortly after their little stunt, they'd regrouped with the other fliers, who were combating the Pegasus Knight reinforcements that had come from the two ships that were now moving towards them. "What are your orders?"

"I dunno, ask Morgan?" Robin replied cheekily as he sent a burst of wind magic at the now-retreating Pegasus Knights. It wasn't going to kill any of them, certainly, but it would ensure they didn't just change their minds and turn around. "I'm not in charge here, remember?"

"Oh, right," Cherche said sheepishly, before turning to Morgan. "Your orders, Morgan?"

"Disengage and regroup with the others," Morgan said after a moment. "The Pegasus Knights probably consider the Admiral lost, and they're going to rendezvous with the fleet. We need to take care of their Admiral before the reinforcements arrive."

"No need to worry about that," Robin said rather queasily as he watched Kendal finish off the Admiral with a rather sickening blow to the head from his hammer. There wasn't much of a head _left_ now. "Admiral's taken care of, this skirmish is over. We need to follow Morgan's orders and regroup. You did well today, Morgan," he complimented with a smile. His smile quickly faded, however, as Morgan stared at nothing, a distant look in her eyes. "Morgan?" he added worriedly.

"What?" She answered vaguely, before whatever she was thinking about appeared to disappear from her mind. "Yeah, let's get back to the others. Am I not in charge anymore?"

"Not unless you want to be," Robin responded with a grin, but it faded once more as Morgan failed to respond. Something was bothering her, but Robin reluctantly admitted it had to wait. "Let's move, everyone!" he shouted in absence of Morgan's answer. She was the last in line, and was staring down at her saddle the entire time. Something had happened up there, Robin was certain, but he had no time to dwell on it as he landed on the deck and was immediately greeted by Chrom.

"The Admiral's dead," Chrom stated, looking a bit queasy. Robin understood; it had been gruesome enough to watch from up high, let alone standing a few feet away from it. "Most of what little crew remains is holding out on the lower decks. Should we try to root them out?"

"No, it'll take too long," Robin told him. "Let's get back to the rest of the fleet. We have a navy to burn."

000

"Wait for it!" Robin ordered as the Valmese ships closed the distance. They were still a few hundred feet away in a straight line formation, and Robin could see that they doused their hulls in an attempt to ward of any potential fire attack. _Too bad they don't know what Miriel's capable of,_ Robin thought with a grin. "Now!" he shouted as the Valmese ships reached the sweet spot, where they wouldn't be able to turn and run, but were still far enough away that they wouldn't torch their own ships.

"All ships, fire at will!" Bahar barked, adding onto Robin's order. As one, the hatches on the sides of every Plegian ship opened up, and the barrels of cannons poked out of each. A half second later, thousands of cannons went off, unleashing a hellish fury against the unsuspecting Valmese fleet with a thunderous cacophony that could drown out even storm clouds. As the veritable sea of projectiles collided with the Valmese fleet, the highly combustible contents inside of the hollow projectiles gave birth to an inferno, doused hulls be damned. The sailors and soldiers of Archanea let out a resounding cheer as the entire Valmese Navy was almost instantly consumed in a red-hot blaze.

"Hmph," Bahar grumbled appreciatively. "I'm man enough to admit I was wrong, boy…Grandmaster," he corrected himself. "Your weapons do fine work. It almost looks as if you set the sea itself on fire!"

"That they do," Robin mused, whistling appreciatively at the virtual hell they'd created where the Valmese fleet once was. "Well, no use sticking around. If the wind turns the wrong way before that fire goes out, we might be caught in the blaze. Let's get out of here, Admiral."

"Aye lad," Bahar nodded, before turning and starting to bark orders to his men. Within moments, the entire Plegian fleet began moving.

"A fine plan, Grandmaster," Kendal said, walking up to Robin. Even though his face was covered, Robin could tell Kendal was smiling. "You do know Dolgahn's going to be furious that you stole his weapon schematics though, don't you?"

"I 'stole' nothing," Robin said with a grin. "I sent Gaius on 'vacation', and he said he 'acquired' them while out drinking. Said they were just sitting around in a tavern."

"Do you really believe Dolgahn will fall for that?" Kendal chuckled.

"No, but I believe he'll be willing to forgive me when I offer to slash the tariff rate in half," Robin countered, still grinning. "Prime Minister Dolgahn is a practical man. He'll make more off of those savings than he ever would have selling the schematics to me, and wars are bad for business. He'll see things my way."

"I don't know whether to be relieved or concerned that you can so easily read one of the leaders of Bersia," Kendal laughed, before it trailed off. "Today was not entirely successful, however," he said sadly.

"I heard about Walter," Robin said gravely, his grin finally fading. "Do we know if he's going to be alright?"

"Libra has said that he will fully recover, before the assault on the harbor even," Kendal stated, "but that is not what I was referring to." Robin shot him a curious gaze, and followed Kendal's subsequent gesture to where Morgan was leaning against the rail of the ship, staring blankly at the burning Valmese fleet.

"I need to go talk to her," Robin said instantly, noticing her white-knuckle grip on the rail.

"Indeed you do," Kendal said grimly. "Good job today, Grandmaster. I am glad to see that my faith was well placed. If you will excuse me, I need to…think about some things." Nodding once, Kendal turned and strode away, even as Robin immediately set off to where Morgan was.

"Are you alright, Morgan?" Robin asked concernedly as he reached his daughter.

"All good, Dad," Morgan said in a very brittle tone of voice. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're a bad liar, Morgan," Robin said seriously, and Morgan's grip tightened on the rail even more, causing it to creak in protest. He put his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "You can tell me what's wrong, Morgan. I won't judge you."

"I killed people today," Morgan responded instantly, surprising Robin with how forthcoming she was. Normally with women he had to practically pry the problem out of them. Then again, she _was_ his daughter, and he personally didn't like beating around the bush, so his child being equally outright with her feelings shouldn't really have been surprising. "And one of them said some man's name as she fell off of her pegasus. A lover, or a brother, or father, I don't know." Her shoulders began shaking then, and Robin noticed her eyes beginning to glisten. "I just… it got me thinking. That woman had someone dear to her back home. The other two didn't say anything, but they had to have had someone as well. And because of me, all of those lives are ruined," she finished with a sniffle.

Robin frowned as he rubbed Morgan's shoulder consolingly as she struggled not to cry. "It's not your fault, Morgan," he stated quietly.

"But it _is_ , Dad," Morgan said, shrugging her shoulder to get his arm off of her and turning to face him, tears streaming down her eyes. "I was the one who killed them."

"No, Walhart killed them," Robin countered. "They would never have been forced into battle with us if not for him. We would all just be sitting at home, enjoying our lives, if not for greedy tyrants like him. But _he's_ the one who decided that he deserved to rule everything, _he's_ the one who decided that everyone else needed to die for his ambitions. You were just defending yourself Morgan, yourself and the rest of us. It isn't your fault."

"How can you just shrug this off?" Morgan asked incredulously, her face contorting angrily even as tears continued to fall. "Thousands of people died today, several of them by your own hand and all of them by your plans, and you just…you say 'Walhart's fault, not mine' and go about your day, joking and laughing with the other Shepherds! How!?"

"I didn't say it doesn't bother me, Morgan," Robin replied quietly, and the anger in her expression left. "I had a moment like this, right after Chrom found me in Southtown. And quite a few since, if I'm being honest. We killed some bandits there, and it bothered me. I kept asking myself if they wouldn't have turned their lives around eventually if they had been left alive, or if I was really righteous enough to play judge, jury, and executioner. But Frederick told me that if they had lived, even if they had eventually redeemed themselves, countless innocent people would die along the way. He told me that sometimes some must fall so that others may live. I don't like killing people, Morgan, don't let the jokes and blithe attitude fool you. Nobody here does, except maybe Henry or Tharja, but they're not entirely sane so they don't count." Morgan laughed weakly at that, and Robin continued. "Khan Flavia even told me that while she loves the fight itself, she hates the part where she actually has to kill them. We all joke around because it's how we cope with it, Morgan, not because we enjoy it. If we didn't try to pretend everything was normal, we'd lose our minds. And if we don't stop Walhart, he will kill thousands of people. If scarring my soul is the price I pay so the rest of Ylisse doesn't have to die or be enslaved to a mad tyrant, then so be it. This is why I wanted you to stay home, Morgan;" he whispered, hugging her tight and running his hand through her hair. "I didn't want you to go through this. You deserve better than this."

"I'm sorry," Morgan said, sniffling again. "I just wanted to be with you, I didn't think about any of that…gods, I'm pathetic," she whimpered. "You're barely older than me, yet you don't fall apart whenever you do what you have to do. I'm so weak…"

Robin squeezed as she began sobbing. "You're not pathetic, Morgan," he whispered soothingly. "You're not weak either. You're just having a natural reaction to the horrors of war, and nobody can fault you for it. In truth, it's actually comforting that you're this upset, because it lets me know that you're truly a kind, empathetic young woman, and it makes me so damned proud I'm fit to burst."

Morgan pulled herself away from his chest and smiled, though there were still tears on her face. "Thanks Dad," she said quietly, wiping the tears away. "I just…it sucks, you know?"

"I know, sweetheart," Robin said consolingly, wiping off a tear she'd missed. "I know all too well…but instead of standing out here and staring at the fire, though, why don't we go find something to eat? I always find that a little bit of food helps."

"Yeah, you were like that in the future too, talking about how food fixes everything," Morgan said with a brittle smile. "Let's go eat."

000

"What are you doing out of bed?" Thomas asked coldly as he walked onto the deck to see his father standing at the railing, gazing out towards where the Valmese Navy was still burning. "Libra said you should not even be awake yet, let alone standing around in the cold night air."

"I just…needed some air," Walter told his son. "I will return to bed momentarily; I know more than most how important bed rest is to a wounded soldier."

Thomas' gaze narrowed. "Why did you take that hit for me?" Thomas asked bluntly. "You quite nearly died; if not for your chainmail, that axe would have hit a heart or a lung, and you would have been dead before you hit the deck. Why would you do that?"

"I thought I had already answered this question," Walter said uncomfortably.

"And it's a load of pegasus dung," Thomas replied shortly. "If you were so concerned with my welfare, if being your son truly mattered so much to you, then why would you throw me into war as a child?" he asked angrily.

Walter worked his mouth wordlessly, before he sighed and gestured toward the orange glow in the sky. "That is why," Walter said simply.

"I fail to see what the Valmese Navy had to do with your poor parenting," Thomas spat.

"Not the Valmese," Walter explained. "But fire against the night sky. It reminds me of Greyhampton."

"If you are trying to make me pity you, you can forget it," Thomas growled.

"That's not what I'm doing at all, Thomas," Walter said patiently, before turning and leaning against the railing, staring at the orange glow. "It is my sin to bear, and I deserve no pity for it…do you remember what you said to me right before I squired you to Sir Kendal?"

"That I wanted to follow in your footsteps," Thomas recited as he stepped up alongside his father, though he didn't look at him, instead staring at the distant inferno as he was. "You're dancing around the issue. What are you getting at?"

"A few days prior, I had just murdered hundreds of innocent people," Walter said bluntly. "I knew you looked up to me. I knew you wanted to be like me. And after Greyhampton, that is the absolute last thing that I wanted for you. Though Greyhampton was the worst of my sins, it was not the first. As an Inquisitor, and then an Emissary, I had done unspeakable things. The last thing I wanted was for you to be like me."

"So, what, throwing your child into a war to get killed was better than him finding out his father was a reprehensible human being, or something?" Thomas said dryly.

"No, Thomas," Walter responded, "but you needed a different role model. You were dead-set on becoming a warrior, so I needed to pick a warrior who hadn't murdered innocents. One with integrity and honor, which I had sacrificed piece by piece throughout the years, before discarding it entirely at Greyhampton. I also needed to pick one that would ensure you would stay safe as you grew. I had few friends, as you well know, but it just so happens that one of them was perfectly suited for the task. Unfortunately, that friend was scheduled to deploy to war shortly."

"General Kendal," Thomas stated, realizing what Walter was getting at.

"Yes, Kendal," Walter responded. "A paragon of knighthood and military prowess, and your 'favorite uncle' by your own words. If ever a man could outshine me as a role model for a young, aspiring warrior, it would be him. I knew you would be in danger, yes, but I was confident in Kendal's ability to keep you alive and well."

"So you squired me to Sir Kendal and threw me into a war as a child, just because you didn't want me looking up to you?" Thomas concluded.

"Yes," Walter replied softly, shamefully.

"Well, mission accomplished, Father," Thomas said icily, glaring at his father, who was still looking out over the railing. "I don't look up to you at all. Before I had thought you were a coward, but now I see that you are simply an incomparable idiot."

"I cannot argue against that," Walter sighed, before finally looking at him. "For what it is worth, Thomas, I never stopped wanting you as a son."

"Do you have any idea what your decisions have cost me, Father?" Thomas asked furiously. "First, I was thrown into a war against creatures nearly twice my size at the time. A child, tossed to the pigs! Then, your idiocy resulted in the summoning of Encablossa, which was quite literally Hell on earth. _Then_ , I was transported to Ylisse just in time to see the resurrection of Grima, and spent my teenage years trying to survive _another_ Hell just as awful as the one you summoned in Bersia. I have seen more friends die than you've ever had in your life. So perhaps you still want me as a son, but I don't want you as a father. The next time you want to throw yourself in front of a blade for me, don't. I would rather die than feel like I owe you my life." With that, he turned and stormed away from Walter, slamming the hatch to the lower decks after him as he went. So consumed was he in his fury at his father that he nearly bowled into someone who was just exiting their room.

"Oh, my apologies Morgan," Thomas said as politely as he could manage in his infuriated state as Morgan shut the door to what he realized was her father's room. He had noticed that she'd taken the day's events less than optimally and had likely been discussing it with her father.

"It's no problem, Thomas," Morgan said, before taking notice of Thomas' distress. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Thomas replied shortly.

"Your dad's up on the top deck isn't he?" Morgan said, smiling smugly as Thomas blanched.

"Yes, he is," Thomas ground out, "and I made the mistake of speaking with him. A mistake I won't be repeating any time soon."

"What did you talk about?" Morgan asked curiously.

"His reasons for abandoning me," Thomas answered. He rather liked Morgan; she was a practical well of positivity, if a bit odd sometimes. She was comforting to talk to. "He says that he didn't want me looking up to him anymore, so he squired me to Sir Kendal so that I could have a different role model."

Morgan hummed, before answering. "Well, that's certainly a better reason than just not wanting you," she mused, "though not by much."

"Shoddy reasons are shoddy reasons," Thomas stated bitterly.

"He saved your life today," Morgan pointed out.

"After nearly ending it several thousand times," Thomas countered.

"That wasn't his fault," Morgan stated, frowning.

"It was his decision that saw me thrown into war," Thomas argued, now growing a bit irritable.

"And what would have happened if you were still in Ecclesia when Encablossa was summoned?" Morgan asked, and Thomas scowled. "You told me your estate was in northeastern Ecclesia. You would have been unarmed and unarmored, completely alone, against thousands of monsters, without any warning. You would have died."

"So, what?" Thomas growled, "my father throwing me into war was a good thing!?"

"Not 'good' exactly," Morgan said, "but the result was better than what would have happened otherwise. When Encablossa was summoned, you were in the company of some of the greatest warriors in Bersia, already hardened by war. Your experiences there allowed you to survive Grima's resurrection. Your father's decisions nearly got you killed, yes, but they also allowed you to survive when you otherwise would have died. And for what it's worth, I like you, so I'm glad you didn't die." Thomas simply grunted in response. "Look, Thomas, I'm not telling you to forgive your father. It's not my place. But from the sounds of things, his intentions are better than you thought and the results are more ideal than the alternative. Maybe try not judging him so harshly?"

Thomas was silent for a long time, before he shrugged and sighed. "I'll consider your words, Morgan," he said somberly. "It's just…hard, you know?"

"Yeah. Well, no, I don't 'know', per se, but I can sympathize," Morgan replied. "Whatever you decide to do, it won't make me think any less of you."

"I appreciate it," Thomas stated with a small smile. "And I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, especially considering how today affected you. Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Nah, Dad's got me covered," Morgan said cheerily. "He really is the best dad ever. And if I can't find him, he told me he'd explain it to Cherche and I could talk to her, since she's been so great to me and all. But thanks for the concern. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm headed to bed. Today's got me beat."

"That we can agree on," Thomas said, his smile growing. "Good night, Morgan."

"Good night, Thomas!" Morgan said cheerily, before walking down the corridor to her own cabin.

Thomas made his way to his own cabin, absorbed in thought. He couldn't find any real flaw in Morgan's arguments, no matter how much he wished he could. Thomas quite reluctantly admitted that she had a point; his father was an idiot, certainly, but he had meant well. That was practically his motto now, Thomas mused. And his father's idiocy had allowed him to survive, despite the hardships he'd endured.

But forgiveness could not come so easily. His father had much to answer for. Perhaps no one _was_ beyond redemption, but his father had dug himself in quite a hole. As far as Thomas was concerned, it would take more than leading an army and a few words to fix it.

 **AN:**

 **And the Valmese Navy is kaput!**

 **I decided not to go with the traditional "sacrifice half the fleet" thing because transporting a hundred thousand people across five hundred ships would tak S. With gunpowder being a thing that practically only Ylisse has, though, there was an alternative, and I took it.**

 **I figured Morgan's "first" time killing people would be a problem for her. I also wanted to put some more Thomas/Walter drama in there.**

 **Next major plot point is the invasion of Valm Harbor, though expect more fluff between then and now. After all, there's character development that needs to happen, and I don't want every chapter hitting 7000+ words like this one lmao.**


	83. Chapter 83

**Chapter 83**

 **Voyage to Valm Part 2: Saltwater Boogaloo**

It had been two weeks since the burning of the Valmese Navy, marking a month total that they had been at sea. Robin was, in a word, bored. He'd read through all of the books Sumia had suggested to him. He'd perfected several maneuvers with Dean that involved mixing spellcraft with Dean's own attacks. He'd participated in far more meetings about the upcoming battle at Valm Harbor than were strictly necessary in order to stay engaged. Hells, he'd even taken to partaking in Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour just to stave off the boredom. And he wasn't the only one; he'd even seen _Tharja_ show up to a couple of them (though very rarely and far between). At this point, one of the high points in his day (that wasn't flying with his daughter, of course) was having tea with Virion and Cherche. Now that Virion's cloak of secrecy regarding his past was cast aside, he'd learned a lot about both him and Cherche. He had learned that Virion had once shot two Valmese soldiers with one arrow (an account that was quite shockingly verified by Cherche, though she attributed it more to a lucky shot than any real skill), that his skill with women in Rosanne was apparently far, far higher than it was with Ylissean women (again, verified by a very much exasperated Cherche), and that he was actually thinking of proposing to Countess Claive after the war. He'd also learned a lot about Cherche; her likes and dislikes, her opinions on several political or economic matters (all surprisingly insightful from a woman who had spent most of her life training as a cleric or working as a servant/lowborn knight), and on the few occasions that Virion would step out randomly, a few more personal bits of information. In fact, he'd promised her just yesterday that he would do everything in his power to ensure they found her parents, after she'd told him how they were her main reason for fighting. He also liked to think that she enjoyed his company almost as much as he enjoyed hers; it seems she almost always marked his entrance into Virion's cabin with a wide smile. One he couldn't help but return.

"Robin, might I have a word?" Cherche asked from behind him.

Robin turned away from the railing he'd been leaning over out of boredom and turned to look at her. _Speak of the devil…_ "Sure, Cherche, what's up?" he asked brightly. He noted with some curiosity that she seemed to be holding something behind her back. _She didn't get me a present, did she?_ Robin wondered. _It's not her birthday, it's not mine either, and it's not a major holiday in either Rosanne or Ylisse…so what gives?_

"Do you remember when you jumped off of Minerva in the Plegian Highlands?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Robin said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "You're not still mad about that, are you? I promised you that I wouldn't take any unnecessary risks anymore, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, and then almost immediately turned around and nearly burnt your hands off," Cherche said with a frown, before her smile returned. "All the same, I would like you to have this," Cherche said, before pulling the hidden item into Robin's view.

"A…pack?" Robin said, nonplussed. "I'm grateful, Cherche, but my pack's in pretty good shape, except for the one clasp on the side pocket that I don't even use. Why did you get me a new one?"

"It's not so much the pack as what's in it," Cherche clarified. "I asked Miriel to devise a method of ensuring that you wouldn't meet your demise if you were forced to jump from such a height again, and she came up with this. She calls it a 'parachute'. You simply pull this cord here," she said, pointing to a bright red cord hanging off of the shoulder strap," and it opens up the pack. Then a large canvas unfolds and slows your descent to a speed where you won't break bones or worse upon landing."

Robin took the pack from her outstretched hand, eyeing it curiously. "So, basically, you just stuffed a tent into a backpack, attached it to some rope, and you use it to slow your fall?"

"Essentially, yes," Cherche giggled. "Though it was Miriel's idea, not mine. I personally designed a harness, however, since our initial test was rather…painful for my shoulders. The harness should make it less likely to dislocate your shoulder as it did to me."

"You dislocated your shoulder?" Robin asked concernedly, before what she had said fully registered. "Wait, you said you 'tested' this…how?" he asked suspiciously.

"The only way one tests anything," Cherche said uneasily, wilting somewhat under Robin's accusatory glare. "I jumped from Minerva's back and pulled the cord."

"You…you what!?" Robin practically shouted, pulling several curious gazes his way from the other occupants of the deck, but a quick glare sent them all back to minding their business. "You seriously jumped off of Minerva just to test one of Miriel's inventions!? You could have died!"

"Morgan agreed to assist me, and she was flying below us to catch me should the parachute fail," Cherche responded defensively, "Everything went perfectly fine, except for dislocating my shoulder when the rope snapped taut."

"It's just…you gave me all that guff about doing reckless stuff, and then you do something like that?" Robin asked incredulously. "Why!?"

"I wished to ensure your safety, should you decide to jump from a wyvern again," Cherche responded simply. "And now that Miriel and I are certain the parachutes work, we can issue them to all of our fliers. Should the worst occur and any of their mounts fall, they at least won't die."

"Wasn't there any other way you could have tested it?" Robin argued. "Like, I dunno, tying the parachute to a large rock or a heavy box or something?"

"Where would one find a rock in the middle of the sea?" Cherche asked amusedly. "And all of our boxes happen to be carrying supplies that we need, and they cannot be frivolously wasted on such matters. Had the parachute failed, then they would have plunged into the sea and been lost."

"And that's exactly why I'm so concerned," Robin shot back with an extremely worried frown. "If Morgan had failed to catch you, you could have died, and it'd be on my account! Do you have any idea how heartbroken I'd be if that happened?"

"Um…no, actually. I…I didn't realize you felt that strongly about it," Cherche said, now blushing lightly. "Would you really be that heartbroken?"

"Uh, yeah?" Robin said, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "I mean…well…"

"Go on," Cherche said, now looking curious.

Robin sighed as his now discombobulated thought processes struggled to pull themselves together. "Well…I mean, I've only known you a couple months now, but I already feel like you're one of my closest friends," Robin said. "On par with Virion, or Cordelia, or even Chrom and Sumia. We've fought together, bled together, yelled at each other about being reckless…and you went the extra mile by reaching out to Morgan, when she was starting to feel a little isolated," he said quietly. "Other than Thomas, and to a lesser extent Noire and Nah, all of the people from her timeline seem to be keeping her at a distance, and there's this sort of 'adult to child' barrier between most of the Shepherds and the future children. I mean, they're all our age, but they're our kids, know what I mean?" Cherche nodded in understanding. "She's just been feeling kind of singled out, and I know it bugs her even though she just tries to smile and shrug it off. But I love that you reached out to her, despite all of the time travel shenanigans and all that, and you've been there for her when I couldn't be. That means the world to me, Cherche. Morgan's everything a parent could want in a child, and you go out of your way to make her happy. I can't begin to describe how much I appreciate that, and how much I appreciate you."

Cherche was now blushing quite profusely. "Well, you are most welcome," she replied with a shy smile. "I see you have been taking tips on flattering women from Lord Virion."

"W-what!?" Robin cried in horror, causing Cherche to laugh. "Gods, no! I'd only ask him for advice if I never planned on getting to know a woman in my life!"

"I jest, Robin, I know you're not that foolish," Cherche laughed, before stepping forward and hugging him tightly. Robin was much less startled than the first time she'd ever hugged him, and quickly hugged her back with the arm that wasn't holding the parachute. "And as I've stated before, I appreciate you very much as well," she said quietly in his ear. She stepped back, smiling softly. "I am honored to know you, and your daughter is an absolute delight. Whoever her mother is, she is quite fortunate to have her…and you."

Now it was Robin's turn to blush. "Yeah, maybe. If my future wife doesn't mind being with a workaholic amnesiac vagabond, anyway."

"I personally admire your dedication to your work," Cherche giggled. "And from what you've told me, your amnesia is indirectly responsible for making you the man you are, and I wouldn't change a thing…though you could certainly use a trim. And you forgot to shave this morning. The vagabond part fits, at least," she teased.

"Morgan said I grew out my beard in the future," Robin pointed out. "I think I'll get started on it now, so by the time I have her it's fully grown out."

"Yes, she did describe it as 'that scraggly thing' back in the Ruins of Time," Robin pouted, and Cherche laughed. Robin rather enjoyed the sound. "I'm not entirely sure it would suit you though. You're already very handsome. A beard wouldn't add much."

"Now who's flattering whom?" Robin stated smarmily, and Cherche laughed again.

"I assure you, I am very sincere," Cherche said with a soft smile, before frowning lightly. "Alas, I just remembered; Lord Virion requested that I go to the other ships and search for a crate of tea that was apparently misplaced in the boarding process. I'm afraid I must take my leave. Good day, Robin."

"Good day, Cherche," Robin responded, before she bowed politely and strolled away. He tried to swallow his immense disappointment and get back to gazing at the sea, but his mind started drifting back to what she'd said.

" _I appreciate you very much as well."_

" _Whoever her mother is, she is quite fortunate to have her…and you."_

" _You're already very handsome."_

 _Don't read into what isn't there,_ he immediately scolded himself, frowning a bit as he began moving toward the stairs to the lower deck. Cherche was just being friendly, and jumping to conclusions would just complicate things. He'd go work on Aversa's spellbook for a bit. That would distract him.

 _Stop refusing to read into what_ is _there,_ a voice immediately countered, sounding irritatingly like Chrom's, complete with smug tone.

 _She's just a friend, Subconscious-manifesting-itself-as-Chrom,_ he retorted as he began descending the steps to the lower deck. _She'd say and do the same for anyone else._

 _How many other people has she spoken like that to?_ The voice responded rhetorically. _How many other people has she hugged before? Hells, how many people has she even_ touched _before? How many other people make her smile just by entering the room? How many people has she volunteered to babysit for? ...and why are you so desperately hoping I'm right?_

 _Shut up,_ Robin spat. _I do not owe the real Chrom five gold,_ he insisted, even as his feet continued past his own cabin, stopping at the door to his best friend's.

 _Oh, you definitely do,_ the voice replied, the grin almost visible in his mind as he knocked on the door. Robin resisted the urge to strangle Chrom immediately as he opened the door in confusion wearing that selfsame grin.

"Is it time for the strategy meeting already?" Chrom asked, nonplussed at Robin's abrupt appearance. "Or are you finally tearing yourself away from Cherche and Morgan long enough to spend some time with your best friend?" He grunted in mild pain as Robin shoved his coinpurse into Chrom's chest roughly.

"There's your gold," Robin spat angrily. "I hope you choke on it." His face turned crimson as he stormed away, Chrom's raucous laughter echoing through the halls behind him.

000

"And once again, I am the victor," Thomas said smugly as he held out a hand for Lucina to take. She shot him a sour look, but took his hand nonetheless, and he hauled her up. "I do not mean to insult you, milady, but I had figured with two additional years of practice, and still having the weapon advantage, that you might best me this time. You were certainly close to it, at least."

"'Close' isn't good enough," Lucina sighed in frustration. "When you sparred with my father, he made defeating you look simple. I fear I do not measure up."

"Oh come now," Thomas said lightly, "don't be like Severa. You are just as talented with a blade as your father. You simply fight differently. Your father is far more aggressive than you are, and I barely had room to get in a strike. You, on the other hand, seem to prefer a style more akin to fencing, likely due to being raised to use a rapier. It just happens that your style is ineffective against mine."

"While you fight just like your own father," a woman said to Thomas' right. He scowled as he turned to see the speaker, Captain Phila. "You press steadily forward with measured strikes, preferring to deflect blows off of your shield passively instead of blocking directly with it to prevent breaking your pace. If you wish to defeat him, Princess," she said, turning to Lucina, "then you would be best served in trying to interrupt his rhythm. They both need it to fight at peak."

"Thank you for the advice, Captain," Lucina responded politely, even as she glanced between Phila and a now very tense Thomas nervously. "I will endeavor to remember it the next time I spar with Thomas. Did you wish to speak with me?"

"Actually, I had wished to speak with Thomas," Phila said, instantly shooting down Lucina's hopes that there wasn't going to be a confrontation today. "If he's willing?" she asked, turning to Thomas hopefully.

Thomas scowled suspiciously at her for a couple of moments, before sighing in defeat. "Very well," he ground out. "I suppose this was coming, at any rate. Am I dismissed, milady?" he asked Lucina, sounding half-hopeful that she would find something else for him to do.

"You are dismissed," Lucina responded nervously, dashing Thomas' hopes immediately. "I will speak to you once you're finished; for now, I believe I'm going to ask Prince Glen what that curious device he's been fiddling with is," she said, pointing to where the Prince was tinkering around with that small weapon Thomas had seen on his waist before. Lucina then shot Thomas a glance that said "good luck", before walking over to the Hironeiden Prince.

Thomas, for his part, turned back to Phila and continued scowling. "If you are here to discuss my issues with my father, save your breath, Captain," Thomas said shortly. "Princess Lucina informed me of your marriage to my father, for which you have my sincerest condolences, but that does not give you the right to interfere in our affairs. Should the Lord wish us to reconcile, which I highly doubt, it will happen in its own time. If you are here to meddle then I shall bid you good day."

Phila scowled at Thomas's blunt and honestly rude remarks, but she took a deep breath before speaking. "I am not here about your father, Thomas, though I do sorely wish you two would reconcile," Phila began. "I am here because I wished to get to know you better myself. Would you mind telling me about yourself?"

"I am eighteen years old," Thomas rattled off with all the enthusiasm of a lifetime accountant reading off a report on loan interest rates, "At the age of seven, my mother died, and my father's soul with her. I was admitted early to the Academy of Magic at Father's insistence, and after five years of education in the arcane arts, I was squired to General Kendal and trained as a Paladin. My training was somewhat incomplete; two months after my appointment as General Kendal's squire, he was deployed to the Holy Ground near the Altar of Destruction. Thankfully, I was trained well enough with a mace by Sir Hildebrand, my instructor, to survive the battles I faced. Father then stole the Ancient Heart, and General Kendal and I acted as rearguard while the Patriarch and my father retreated to Ecclesia. From there, Father destroyed the Ancient Heart and summoned Encablossa. Over the course of the next three days, I endured a literal hell on earth, until I was separated from Kendal inside of Encablossa. Once Encablossa's Heart was destroyed, I was transported to Ylisse through methods unknown, to ends unknown. Lady Sedgar found me at the edge of the Great Forest, and I enjoyed a brief few months of peace until the Fell Dragon was resurrected. I spent the next six years enduring yet another hell just as awful as the one Father had unleashed. During one mission to retrieve the missing pieces of the Fire Emblem, I was separated from my friends and wandered into the Ruins of Time, somehow being transported nearly two decades into the past. I'm sure you know the rest of my story from there," Thomas finished, not breaking his bored, deadpan tone even once.

"That…wasn't what I meant," Phila stated, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Thomas, I want to get to know you, as a person, I did not want a dossier on your military career."

"Anything you need to know, you can observe through my actions," Thomas replied disinterestedly. "A man's actions reveal much about him. His motivations, his thought processes, his likes and dislikes. I was never one for idle socialization, Captain, and that was only enhanced by my military career."

"You seem perfectly sociable with Morgan," Phila pointed out.

"Morgan is a…special case," Thomas said evasively. The last thing he needed was Morgan's past to be aired out. He would even suffer the rumors that would no doubt be circulating, if the grin that had surfaced on Phila's case was any indicator, if it meant giving Morgan her privacy. "Ask any of the other future children, and they will tell you much what I did. I am not trying to be unnecessarily cold to you, Captain, I just do not have much experience with socialization. Given your ties to my father, I'm sure you can understand why I'm not particularly interested either."

Phila sighed in defeat. "You know, Thomas," she replied dejectedly, "I had always wanted children. I have one now, yes, but when you were found, I was rather overjoyed at the prospect of having another. I know I am not your birth mother, but I had hoped…never mind," she said, sighing again. "I can see my efforts are wasted. I apologize for bothering you. Good day." She then bowed politely, before turning and beginning to trudge away.

Thomas frowned as something she had said fully registered. "Wait a moment, Captain," Thomas said suddenly, causing the silver-haired Pegasus Knight to stop and turn around, shooting him a curious and somewhat hopeful glance. "You said you already had a child. Who is the father?"

"Did…did the Princess not tell you?" Phila asked in shock, and Thomas shook his head in confusion. "The child is your father's, of course. I have known no other man. Our daughter's name is Grace, and she is your half-sister."

Thomas' eyes widened at that bit of news. "I…I have a sister?" he asked in awe.

"Yes, you do," Phila replied, before sighing in disappointment. "Or perhaps you don't, if your insistence against having anything to do with your father is any indication of your desires. I apologize for dragging all of this up, when you so clearly don't want anything to do with us. I'll just take my leave and-"

"That's not true at all!" Thomas said fervently, surprising Phila with his sudden enthusiasm. "I had always wanted a sibling," Thomas said eagerly. "I would have preferred a brother, but a sister is just as good! I don't know why milady didn't inform me, but I assure you, I am quite interested in getting to know her! How old is she? Does she follow the Faith? Is she allergic to yams? What are her interests? What does she look like? Does she show any proficiency in magic?"

Phila just stared in shock as Thomas continued spouting off an incredibly long list of increasingly random and oddly specific questions. "Wait, wait a moment!" Phila said loudly, cutting Thomas off. "Why the sudden change of heart?" Phila asked curiously. "Just a few moments ago, you had wanted nothing to do with us!"

"I wanted nothing to do with my _father_ ," Thomas corrected, "and given your ties to him, I viewed getting closer to you as too much of a risk of having to associate with him. But the fact that I have a sister changes everything! Grace was her name, correct?" Phila nodded, a bit bewildered at Thomas' sudden turnaround. "Yes, well, Grace is not my father. She does not deserve to be held accountable for his crimes, or denied family on his account. It would be wrong of me to do so, and as I stated, I have very much wanted a sibling. Sure, she's only my sister by half, but she's still my sister." Thomas then shifted nervously. "And…well, I'm sorry," Thomas replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was out of place before. I was not insistent against getting to know you on your own merits or lack thereof, but by your relationship with my father. And that was wrong of me. All people deserve to be judged by their deeds, not solely by the company they keep. I apologize for my behavior, Captain…er, Phila," he corrected. "As long as you can promise that you will stay out of the feud between my father and me, I will gladly get to know you…though I may need some practice with socialization," he stated sheepishly. "Obviously, I'm not very good at it."

"Well, that's yet another similarity between you and your father," Phila laughed, before noting Thomas' sour expression. "I did not intend that as an insult, Thomas," she clarified, and Thomas' expression abated somewhat. "Just that Walter was never particularly social either. But do you truly mean what you said?"

"Yes, Phila," Thomas responded. "In truth, I have been curious for some time about you, your marriage to my father notwithstanding. Lady Sedgar, in the brief time I knew her in the future, had much to say about you, and all of it good. She practically hero-worshipped you, despite being a hero herself."

"She has always done so, though there are times I don't think myself worthy of the praise," Phila chuckled. "I'm afraid I must go meet with her now, but if you wish to learn more of me, and of your sister, why don't you meet with me for supper tonight? I had planned on dining with Cordelia and Stahl while your father dined with General Kendal and Prince Glen, but I will gladly set aside time for you instead."

"I think I will," Thomas said with a smile. "I will see you tonight, Captain."

"Very well. Good day, Thomas," Phila said with a bright smile, before turning around and taking her leave, decidedly happier than she had been after her first attempt to leave.

Thomas' smile faded a bit once Phila had left. While he was very eager to learn about his newly-revealed sister, and had meant what he said to Phila about getting to know her, he still held reservations. Getting closer to those two would implicitly mean spending time around his father, and that was one idea he wasn't particularly fond of.

 _Maybe try not judging him so harshly?_ Morgan's voice rang in his ears. He shook his head as he turned away. He couldn't just wipe away what his father had done. Not to him, and not to Bersia. Not even for his sister's sake. He would simply…avoid the man when he could.

000

"Heya Glen!" Morgan said cheerily as she walked up to the Hironeiden Prince, who was sitting on a barrel and fiddling with something. Lucina was standing there, but she ignored her; she was determined not to speak to her until she gave her the information she wanted. "Whatcha doin?"

"Ah, hello Morgan," Glen greeted politely. Morgan hadn't really spoken to the guy before; he seemed pretty reserved most of the time, much more like his mother than his father, and she'd been spending most of her time with her father or Thomas, while Glen had been mostly socializing with those of Bersian origins, or with Lucina. "I'm just examining the modifications Miriel made to my hand cannon," he told her, holding up the weapon for her to inspect.

She eyed the device curiously. It looked like someone had ripped apart a small crossbow, leaving only the body of the weapon and the handle. A small metal tube poked out of the wood casing, however, telling Morgan which end was the dangerous end. Atop the end of the barrel, and farther toward the back of the weapon, were metal prongs that Morgan guessed were probably sights. "A 'hand cannon'? Aren't those big artillery pieces on Deck 4 called cannons?" she asked curiously.

"Indeed they are," Glen responded. "This is a smaller, man-portable version of them. Dwarven researchers designed it, and Dolgahn requested that I test it in this war." He then pulled a shot out of his pouch. Morgan eyed it curiously; it looked like a conical chunk of metal that was half brass, half lead. "It fires these at speeds faster than even a crossbow, though these weren't the original shots. As I said, Miriel made some modifications, and I've been trying to familiarize myself with them before test-firing the new rounds. The original design suffers from accuracy problems, you see, and it takes upwards of a minute to reload even for a practiced hand. Your father recommended I speak with Miriel about improving it." He then held up the shot again. "Miriel sought to circumvent the reload time by pre-packaging the shots. This brass casing;" he said, pointing to the brass half of the bullet, "is filled with gunpowder, while the projectile itself", he said, pointing at the lead half of the bullet, "is what actually gets fired. The shots were originally made of stone, but Miriel elected to change it to lead, something about 'transfer of kinetic energy', or something to that effect. Her husband also apparently suggested making the round itself conical, though I have no idea what results those are supposed to yield." He then lifted up a hatch on the back-right side of the weapon and placed the round inside of the weapon. Once that was done, he lowered the hatch and fixed the clasp that secured it. "She also redesigned the weapon to load from the breach like a true cannon, instead of simply stuffing the barrel full of powder and dropping a shot in ahead of it. Overall, the reload is much swifter than it once was, though I haven't yet fired it to determine if it's more powerful or accurate." He then pointed towards the barrel of the weapon. "According to Miriel, she acted again on her husband's intuition and carved a series of spiral grooves into this new barrel. I am unsure as to what that's supposed to do, but I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" he said cheerily, standing up from the barrel he was sitting on and pulling back a small metal piece on back of the hand cannon. A resounding click sounded, and Morgan recognized it as the trigger mechanism sliding into place.

"Excuse me, everyone!" Lucina shouted, pulling the attentions of several Shepherds on the deck. "Would everyone that is standing forward of the center mast please move behind us? Prince Glen is about to test fire a weapon, and we are unsure how accurate it is. We do not wish any unintentional harm should he miss." Several of the Shepherds shot her curious looks, but they all listened and moved past the deck behind him. Most of the Shepherds just walked past and either leaned against the aft railing or headed below deck, but a few lingered by curiously, wanting to see what Glen's weapon could do. As Glen leveled his hand cannon at the center mast, Morgan noticed he had already pinned an archery target to it. They were standing just in front of the stairs to that led up to the aft deck and the helm; there was at least twenty yards between them and the target.

"Well, here we go," Glen said nervously, before aiming the weapon and firing. Morgan jumped and covered her ears at the loud bang that signaled the projectile's departure from the weapon, as did practically everyone else. As Morgan lowered her hands, her mouth dropped in awe at the very neat, slightly burnt hole in the dead center of the target.

"Wow, nice shot!" Morgan said enthusiastically.

"Good Lord," Glen gasped, more surprised than anyone present. "I was barely expecting to hit the target at all!"

"Is that weapon really that inaccurate?" Lucina asked curiously as Glen regarded his weapon in awe.

"Yes, the shots tend to go wherever they damn well please, with the only consistent direction being 'forward'," Glen said absently, still staring at the weapon. "It's normally difficult to even hit the target at this range, let alone score a perfect shot! It was probably a fluke, though. Let's test it again." He then opened the chamber on the weapon, fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar mechanism, and shook the casing loose. He promptly yelped, however, as the hot brass fell into his bare hand, and he dropped it. The casing immediately fell to the deck, clattering noisily and smoking slightly.

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Glen said dryly as he pulled a glove out of one of the many pouches on his belt, reaching down and grabbing the casing gingerly once his hand was covered. "I mean, it _is_ gunpowder we're dealing with here. Of course it would be hot." He then placed the expended casing into another pouch, before drawing another shot out of a third. His loading of the weapon was much more fluid this time, and he took aim at the target once more. "Firing!" he shouted, having noticed everyone's startled reaction before. Everyone quickly covered their ears, and he squeezed the trigger.

"Did…did you miss?" Morgan asked quietly as Glen lowered the weapon.

"I'm not certain," Glen said curiously. The three then walked forward to the target, eyeing it critically. There was no second hole. "It appears I did miss," Glen sighed. "A fluke I suppose. Ah well, at least loading is easier now. That alone is more than enough of an improvement."

"Wait," Morgan said, eyeing the paper. The hole from last time was bigger now. She pulled the target off of the mast, revealing the hole it had blown into the mast. Using her knife, she carefully pried the projectile out. She looked at it curiously; where before it had been conical, now it appeared to be crushed, as if someone had stepped on the tip. Looking back into the hole and casting a small fire spell to illuminate it further, she gasped as she saw the first round Glen fired buried halfway into the mast. "No, you definitely hit it," she said, gesturing for Glen to look into the hole. Glen's eyes widened as he realized Morgan was telling the truth. "Dead on, too, it looks like the second shot crushed itself against the first."

"This is outstanding!" Glen proclaimed exuberantly, startling Morgan with his random spike of enthusiasm. "Two perfect shots! That is almost certainly not a fluke! Miriel did it, she actually did it! I must go thank her! Dolgahn will be ecstatic to hear that somebody worked out the accuracy issues!" Without even acknowledging Morgan and Lucina's bemused looks, Glen took off past the crowd of now-dispersing onlookers, laughing ecstatically.

"Well, that was certainly…abnormal," Lucina said with a quirked eyebrow. "I have never seen Prince Glen look so happy. And over such a seemingly trivial matter as well."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Morgan said amusedly, before remembering her resolution not to speak to Lucina, grimacing, and beginning to walk away toward the prow of the ship.

"Morgan," Lucina called out hesitantly.

"What?" Morgan replied tersely, stopping but not turning around.

"Why have you been ignoring me these past few weeks?" Lucina asked as she followed after her, sounding almost hurt and making Morgan feel a brief spike of regret, before her anger quickly quashed that feeling. "It has been many years since I've seen you, yet you have done your utmost to ignore me. I only wish to get to know you. Perhaps rekindle the friendship we once had. You…you were like a little sister to me…"

"You know why," Morgan snapped, whirling around and jabbing her finger right into Lucina's solar plexus. "Guilt trip all you want, but my _real_ sibling is more important to me."

"Morgan," Lucina sighed, "you know why I won't tell you about your brother."

"That reason's a load of wyvern dung and you know it," Morgan shot back angrily. "Yeah, sure, maybe my brother doesn't want to be found, but do you maybe think that he might want to know his dead sister is alive!? I'm not saying we should drag him into the war with us or anything, that's the last thing I want, I just want to let him know I'm alright! Is that such a crime!?"

"It…it isn't that simple," Lucina said nervously.

"It _is_ that simple, Lucy!" Morgan snarled. "What on earth could _possibly_ make that complicated!? My brother's out there somewhere, probably grieved for me for years, and now it turns out I'm alive. He deserves to know! And me and Dad deserve to know about him, if only for him to tell us he doesn't want anything to do with us personally. But nooo," she drawled sarcastically, "big, important, mysterious Exalt Lucy decides who gets to know what! You don't tell anyone anything, Lucy! You don't tell our dads anything specific about the future so they can prepare, you don't tell anybody what Regnier ever said to you about his plans, you don't tell anyone if they have kids in the future, you don't say anything but some dour, foreboding, half-prophetic nonsense! I'm sick of it, and I doubt I'm the only one!" she shouted, now quite red in the face.

"Morgan, please," Lucina pleaded as she eyed the people now looking at them curiously from across the deck, "if you would just calm down and-"

"No!" Morgan interrupted furiously. "I'm not going to calm down, Lucy! You're full of yourself and think you can be the arbiter of who gets to know what! Thomas must have lied or been wrong about our relationship as kids, because I can't believe I ever looked up to you," she finished bitterly, turning around and storming away from Lucina before she could say anything.

"Stupid know-it-all, stupid-hair-colored, stupid-sword-wielding, stupid little daddy's girl," Morgan seethed as she stomped down the stairs to Deck 2. She was going to go talk to her Dad. She was tired of concealing everything from him, it made her no better than Lucina. And she frankly didn't care whether that sanctimonious little princess got the snot beat out of her by Dad for keeping the information from him; he deserved to know, and so did she.

"Morgan, wait!" Thomas' voice rang out behind her.

"Not now, Thomas," Morgan ground out, even as she continued walking down the hall. "I'm going to talk to Dad."

"You plan on telling him about your brother, don't you?" Thomas asked worriedly as he gently grabbed her shoulder, pulling her to a halt.

"Yeah, I am," Morgan said hotly as she shrugged Thomas' hand off. She turned around to glare at him, and he winced at the sheer anger in her eyes. "He deserves to know. So do I."

"I don't argue that," Thomas said diplomatically, "but have you stopped to consider that Princess Lucina has a valid reason for keeping your brother's identity a secret?"

"What, that whole 'he doesn't want to be found' nonsense?" Morgan asked heatedly. "Yeah, I know, but that's not good enough for me."

"It isn't that," Thomas said nervously, causing Morgan's temper to abate somewhat. "Do you trust me, Morgan?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Morgan grumbled. "I'm pretty mad at you for not telling me, but you're such a stick in the mud who's obsessed with duty that I can't really blame you. After all, your _Princess_ told you not to."

"If you trust me, then listen well," Thomas warned. "You do not _want_ to find your brother."

"W-what?" Morgan asked in befuddlement. "Why!?"

"I…I cannot say," Thomas said in defeat, and Morgan scowled. He held up his hand, however, and Morgan held her tongue. "I'm forbidden from giving the exact reason, but I can tell you that if you find your brother, it will only bring you sorrow."

"Why is that, Thomas?" Morgan asked tersely. "Why would finding my brother make me that miserable?"

"I can't tell you," Thomas said morosely, and Morgan cried out in frustration. "I do not really even _want_ to tell you, truth be told. I don't like seeing you like this, Morgan. This angry, this miserable. But if you found your brother, this is how you would be for a long time, if not the rest of your life."

"What happened?" Morgan pressed. "What's wrong with me and my brother!?"

"Suffice it to say it's worse than what happened between me and my father," Thomas told her bluntly. Morgan felt the color drain from her face as dread settled into her stomach. Thomas didn't hold much in worse regard than his issues with his father. The issue normally had to be of resurrected-evil-god or massacre-of-hundreds-of-innocents proportions to be considered that bad. "Please, Morgan, for the sake of your own happiness, forget about your brother. I promise you, the misery that will follow is far worse than not knowing."

"Is…is it really that bad?" Morgan asked quietly, and Thomas nodded gravely. "But…I can't just forget about him! Despite how badly he might hate me, for whatever reason, we're family! And…" Morgan trailed off nervously, "I was hoping he might help me remember stuff about my past, you know?"

"I know," Thomas said softly, putting a comforting hand on her shoulders. "But your brother will only bring you misery. As will your memories, I suspect," he sighed. "The future was terrible, Morgan. You have the good fortune to only remember happy times with your father and Dean. It is cruel that whatever magic stripped away your memories only left you those of your father instead of your entire family, but it has spared you the trauma you undoubtedly endured in our time. You do not awake screaming in the night or have flashbacks during the day when you're trying to focus on more important tasks like the others do. As you are now, Morgan, you are a vibrant young woman who is a pleasure to be around. Though your blessings are few, the Lord has seen fit to grant you that, at least."

"Yeah, maybe," Morgan grumbled. "It just sucks, you know?"

"I know," Thomas said sympathetically. "Now, go speak to your father. I recommend against telling him of your brother, though I cannot stop you, but he could at least go flying with you to take your mind off of it, yes?"

Morgan shrugged at that. "That sounds nice, but…well, you're right. Telling Dad about my brother would just make trouble with no real result. And I don't trust myself not to say something right now. Maybe I'll go bother Cherche instead, she's talked with me about it before."

"Er…I hate to tell you this," Thomas said nervously, "but Lady Cherche is currently accomplishing a task for Lord Virion aboard one of the other vessels, something about misplacing a crate of tea or some such thing. She may not be back for a while."

"Ugh, dammit!" Morgan spat, before a curious look came to her eye. "What about you?"

"Uh, me?" Thomas asked, nonplussed. "I don't have a mount at all, Morgan, let alone one that can fly."

"So just ride behind me," Morgan said with a shrug. "Dean's more than strong enough to carry two. You just ride behind me and hold onto me, we go flying, shoot the breeze a bit, and come back." To Morgan's surprise, Thomas was actually blushing. "Are you alright?"

"Er, yes, I'm fine," Thomas said quickly. A little _too_ quickly. Morgan had a suspicion as to why he was suddenly so flustered. _Has he never gone riding with a woman before?_ She thought as a malicious grin came to her face. _Gods, I don't think he's ever even_ touched _a woman at all before, judging by that embarrassed and frightful look._ _Oh, this is just too precious._ "If it means that much to you, then I suppose I can. Just let me change out of my armor, and I will meet you on Deck 3," Thomas said begrudgingly.

Morgan smiled widely. "Awesome!" she exclaimed, before deciding to act on her suspicions. "It's a date!" she cried happily, before immediately turning around and walking to her own room to get her riding boots. She just barely managed to close her door before her laughter at Thomas' last horrified expression burst free.

 **AN:**

 **The last chapter before they finally arrive in Valm.**

 **Robin realizes he actually does like Cherche, and once again loses a bet (I've made him an atrociously horrible gambler because –Luck is my preferred Flaw to pick)**

 **Thomas finds out he has a sister and is unexpectedly enthusiastic about it. I was kind of in between a rock and a hard place regarding how to actually bridge the gap I created between Walter and Thomas, and what better way than exploiting family ties?**

 **Glen shows off his new and improved pistol. The advancement from smoothbore barrels to rifling, the invention of the conical bullet, and the development of singular cartridges as opposed to traditional muzzle-loading were all major advancements in gunpowder weaponry in real life. Given that Miriel's a genius and Gregor's shown to have some clever intuition, having them both working on improving Glen's pistol would naturally result in some significant advancements. This won't be rolled out en masse, though, because both Bersia and Ylisse lack the precision machining required to mass-produce individual gunpowder weaponry at that level of sophistication. This is just the prototype stage.**

 **Morgan has another fight with Lucina about not telling her about her brother. I mean, if I were Morgan, barely able to remember I even had family members at all and someone I knew was withholding information, I'd be pretty fucking mad about it. Also put in some delicious awkwardness for Thomas, the poor sheltered soul that he is. To be honest, I kind used my own thoughts for her rant at Lucina. There is quite literally no worse outcome than the "fated" one where Grima destroys the world, so why in the world WOULDN'T someone try to change everything they could? But no, she decides to be a cryptic little shit half the time.**


	84. Chapter 84

**Chapter 84**

 **Smoldering Resistance**

"What do you see, Robin?" Chrom asked from the prow of the _Legacy of Berkut_ as they sailed toward Valm Harbor in the late morning light _._ Robin would be glad to be off this boat soon; the boredom was driving him insane. It was so bad that he was actually _happy_ they were marching into battle for once; he was almost thankful to have someone shooting spells at him again. He gazed across Valm Harbor. There were several fortifications built along the docks they were attempting to land at along with hundreds of soldiers, but he immediately noticed a problem with them.

"Trouble," Robin sighed as he collapsed his spy glass. "The Valmese garrisoned at the harbor are already being engaged."

"Engaged?" Chrom asked, and Robin nodded. "By who?"

"From what Cherche and Virion have told me, their description matches the warriors of Chon'sin," Robin said. "While normally I'd be glad to have such an easy ticket to accomplishing one of our objectives, their presence presents a problem in this specific scenario."

"And what would that be?" Chrom asked.

"They're thoroughly entangled amongst the Valmese positions," Robin explained. "The entire battle line is a mess. They're obviously trying to disrupt the lines to make them easier to breach, but given that our plan was just to blow the positions to kingdom come with cannons and Walter's patented Bersian World Ending Doom Spells, that throws a wrench in our gears."

"What do you suggest?" Chrom asked. "Do we do what the Chon'sin have planned and storm it traditionally?"

"No," Robin replied. "As disrupted as they are, those positions are very well fortified. We'd lose a lot of men, distraction or no. No, I'm going to fly ahead, find their leader, and convince them to retreat."

"You're going to fly ahead alone?" Cherche asked pointedly.

"Of course not," Robin said with a grin. "You're coming with me. Chrom did order us to fight together, after all." He ignored Chrom's smug grin in the corner of his eye.

"Very well," Cherche stated. "I will await you on Deck 3." With that, she quickly took off downstairs to where their mounts were stored.

"Shut up, Chrom," Robin said preemptively as Cherche disappeared, pulling laughs from several Shepherds in the process. "Anyway, once we've convinced the Chon'sin to retreat and regroup with us, we go with the standard plan. After the bombardment, the Shepherds, Kendal's Paladins, and the Yenicheri Corps assault the fortifications and open up a beachhead. While we do that, the Feroxi Army will disembark and follow us in." Flavia and Basilio cheered at their placement near the fore of the battle. "After that, the Ylissean Army will disembark in numerical order by Division and secure the city. Once we've secured the city, we'll plan our next move." Robin already had an plan of what that next move would be, but he would get to that later. "For Ylisse!" he shouted, hefting his lance into the air.

"For Ylisse!" the Shepherds echoed.

"I see you're finally wearing that breastplate I had made for you," Chrom said with a grin.

"Cherche practically forced me to," Robin grumbled, before slugging Chrom on the arm as his grin widened.

"You know, you're supposed to wait _until_ you're married to start obeying your wife's every whim," Chrom chided.

"And _you_ were supposed to wait until you were married to get your wife pregnant," Robin retorted, earning some laughter from Chrom. "I haven't said anything about planning to marry her. I just like her, that's all. I could just as easily end up marrying some Valmese woman."

"Cherche _is_ a Valmese woman," Chrom instantly countered, earning himself another punch.

"I'm beginning to suspect that I'm the one who murders you, because you're really pushing your luck here, Your Majesty," Robin said, though with no real heat, and Chrom laughed raucously. "I'll see you in a bit, Chrom. Try not to trip and break a limb _again_ while I'm gone, it's the wrong time to be tripping because you can't find your sea legs. Gods, you and Sumia were made for each other."

"Get out of here before I have you clapped in irons!" Chrom shouted amusedly, punching Robin on the arm.

Robin chuckled and began striding away, before stopping by Morgan. "Are you ready, Morgan?" he asked seriously.

"Yeah, I'm good to go!" Morgan said enthusiastically. She couldn't fool Robin, however; she was clearly nervous. She hadn't taken her first battle well, and she was worried she'd freeze up this time.

"I have faith in you, Morgan," he responded softly. "There's a reason I put you in charge of the Shepherds specifically today. I know you can lead them to victory."

"You can count on me," Morgan said with as much confidence as she could muster. It wasn't all that much, but Robin empathized with her.

"That's the spirit!" Robin said proudly, briefly hugging his daughter with one arm before turning to Phila. "Captain, once Cherche and I depart, get the other fliers moving. I need those cannons up on the top deck as soon as possible, and they need to move through the space the pegasi are stored in to bring them up."

"By your order, Grandmaster," Phila said with a salute. Robin had given up on trying to get people to stop calling him that; they seemed to go out of their way to do it whenever he tried. He then took the stairs two at a time and rushed across Deck 3, mounting Dean in one fluid motion and double checking that his tome and sword were on his person, and that his lance was in the saddle holster.

"Sorry for the wait," Robin apologized to Cherche, who was already mounted and waiting patiently. "I had to talk to Morgan first."

"I understand," Cherche said with a smile. "It is admirable that you have such love for your daughter."

"It's hard not to love her," Robin chuckled, before nodding at the Plegian sailors to lower the invasion ramp. Admiral Bahar had pulled the ship parallel to the docks, though still several hundred meters out to sea. The side of the ship swung down to reveal the ongoing battle on the docks. Red armored knights and cavaliers fought against green-garbed swordmasters, opposing cavaliers, and Robin noticed a few warriors wielding swords and wearing a large ornament on their back. The ornament appeared to be one large, golden circle, with two smaller golden circles flanking the bottom, and all were painted to appear as if they were aflame. They darted around with a speed that unnerved Robin, slashing away at targets before practically disappearing before his eyes. As one of the mounted Valmese mages cast a spell at one of them, he noticed that ornament on their back light up, and the spell dissipated as if it had hit a ward. _Holy crap,_ Robin thought in awe as that same warrior jumped nearly ten feet in the air, drop-kicked the mage off of his horse, and landed feet-first on the man's throat, killing the man instantly. _Those guys aren't messing around. Are all warriors of Chon'sin like that!?_

"Do you see their leader?" Cherche asked as she watched the battle herself.

"No…wait, there," Robin said, pointing toward the center of the battle. The bulk of the Chon'sin troops were concentrated there, and he spied a woman not wearing the typical uniform of a Chon'sin swordmaster; instead of wearing a green battle-robe like her compatriots, hers was a rather lovely shade of purple, and she wore a very ornate set of white lacquered wood beneath it. She wielded a pair of blades like Lon'qu's (which he vaguely remembered being referred to as katanas), though they were significantly shorter and consequently much faster. Her dark brown hair hung straight and loose as she darted around the field, striking at the weak points of the more heavily armored Valmese, or unleashing on the less lightly armored ones with a furious barrage of strikes they couldn't hope to match. As Robin watched, she spun and slashed across the unguarded throat of a Valmese knight while using her other blade to cut the legs of a cavalier's mount that had attempted to flank and surround her. As the Valmese knight fell and the horse collapsed, screaming in pain, the woman swiftly turned around and plunged both of her swords into the weak points of the cavalier's armor, ending him before he could even attempt to stand up. _She's not messing around either,_ Robin thought warily.

"I see her," Cherche said. "Lead the way, Robin," she said. Robin nodded, and the pair took off. A few errant spells or arrows were launched their way with poor accuracy, but Robin shot a few Thoron spells at the perpetrators and their resistance was quickly snuffed out. Soon, they were above the battle itself, flying toward the allied leader.

"Remember what we did on that Valmese ship?" Robin said to Cherche, grinning madly and pointing to the fresh wave of Valmese reinforcements that were pouring out of the city itself toward the allied leader.

"Yes I do. On your signal," she replied with a smirk.

"Alright then!" he shouted, before turning his attention downwards. "Shock and awe!" He boomed, pulling several of the combatants' gazes up towards them. Without further ado, he cast a Thoron spell, but instead of directing it in a bolt like he normally would, he enwreathed Dean in it. Dean immediately dove downwards, straight toward the thickest concentration of red armor he could find, right next to the allied leader. At the last second he unfurled his wings, slowing his descent to a survivable level, though the force of his impact sent a tremor through the earth that staggered the Valmese around them. Even as they staggered, the Thoron web Robin and Dean were encased in burst apart, sending smaller lances of lightning in every direction. The sheer force of the blast knocked most of their targets flying, and secondary bolts lanced across anybody not directly hit. They weren't done there, however; even as the electrified bodies of Valmese soldiers flew across the field, Dean pointed his almost completely toward his tail and let loose a stream of flame. As he continued breathing fire, he swept his head sideways, unleashing a 300° arc of fire that superheated armor and set cloth and flesh aflame. Even as the Valmese reeled and struggled to recover after the brutal assault,. Minerva, breathing fire from her mouth and flying with her talons just skimming the ground, slammed into their ranks. Her sheer size alone knocked armored men flying as she bowled through the now completely destroyed Valmese line, with Cherche swinging her Lucerne at targets as they blew past. As Minerva finally pulled up, she seized hold of the heads of two Valmese knights and picked them up with her, slamming them bodily into the side of a three-story building as she skimmed barely over the top.

"Marry, what fighting!" a voice said behind him as the Chon'sin warriors poured around him, gleefully taking advantage of the opening they'd provided. He turned to see the Chon'sin leader staring at him in awe. He noticed she had a rather beautiful face, if a bit exotic with its foreign lines and angles, and her eyes matched her hair, both the same shade as his. "It would seem that the rumors of the Ylissean League's strength were not exaggerated!" Her voice had a thick accent to it, and Robin had a bit of trouble figuring out what she was saying.

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to do that again anytime soon," Robin panted. Controlling a Thoron spell just to aim it was hard enough; controlling it in the manner he did took a lot more concentration and energy. "Are these buildings empty?" he asked, gesturing towards the houses behind him.

"Yes, we ensured that the civilians were evacuated prior to attacking," the woman answered. "I am Han Say'ri."

"Robin, Tactician of the Shepherds," Robin responded. "Listen, I need you to fall back to the harbor and regroup with our troops."

"What?" Say'ri asked in surprise. "But we have the Valmese in disarray, especially after your powerful display! You would give up such an advantageous position?"

"Yes, we have a plan, but we can't do it with your troops in the way," Robin told her.

"'In the way?'" Say'ri responded hotly, and Robin immediately regretted the way he'd worded that. "These brave men and women threw themselves upon the Valmese with no guarantee that you would even land here at all, let alone in time to aid us, and you have the audacity to say we are 'in the way'!?" she shouted.

"Look, that's not what I meant," Robin groaned in exasperation. "Please, listen, you need to fall back to our ships. This harbor is about to become a smoking crater, and you really don't want to be here when-"

"This is unacceptable!" Say'ri seethed. "First we sacrifice our lives to give you an opening, then you insult us, and now you presume to give us orders!? No, we will remain here," she said proudly as Cherche landed next to Robin. "If you have half of the intelligence your title would suggest, you will disembark your troops and take advantage of the opening we've provided." Without waiting for a response, she darted past Robin and shot into the melee with her troops, shouting war cries in her native tongue.

"You seem to have made a good impression," Cherche remarked dryly.

"Yeah, I'm great at that," Robin muttered, before sighing. "We don't have time for this, and we don't have the men for this either. Dean," he said, the wyvern turning his head toward Robin, "grab her. Gently. If she doesn't want to come, we're making her."

"Robin, I'm not entirely sure that's a good….and he's gone," she sighed. Dean had already darted into the fray on foot, gingerly stepping around the Chon'sin warriors. Cherche rolled her eyes as Say'ri let out a surprised, indignant shout as Dean grabbed her by the fur collar around her shoulders and took off vertically.

"Hey, warriors of Chon'sin!" Robin shouted. The melee around them was brought to a brief halt as everyone turned their eyes skyward, toward the Ylissean tactician and a very irate Say'ri who was thrashing wildly in Dean's mouth. "I've kidnapped your leader! If you don't want her to get eaten by wyverns within the next five minutes, you'll come with me!" Not waiting for a response, Robin turned Dean about and darted back toward the docks as Cherche took off after him. Predictably, the Chon'sin immediately disengaged, the Valmese too nonplussed at the bizarre turn of events to pursue them. They collected themselves quickly enough, however, and began repairing the fortifications and getting back into formation as the Chon'sin soldiers retreated, shouting furiously at Robin.

"Unhand me, cretin!" Say'ri shouted indignantly as Dean touched down at the edge of the harbor, where the first dozen ships were already mooring themselves to the docks.

"As you wish," Robin said brightly, tapping Dean lightly with the butt of his lance. Dean unceremoniously dropped her face first into the wood.

"Have you lost your wits!?" Say'ri screeched as she immediately jumped to her feet, brandishing both of her swords at him. "You disrespectful, irreverent idiot! Not only do you manhandle me like so much refuse, but you give away our advantage!?" she shouted irately, pointing one of her swords at the Chon'sin troops that were now charging across the docks at them and no longer tying up the Valmese.

"Watch and learn, buttercup," Robin said as the last of the Chon'sin pulled out of the danger zone. Robin then turned back toward the ships; he could see Admiral Bahar standing at the railing, looking down at the scene below him with some amusement. "Fire!" Robin ordered, before turning to Say'ri, who was seething in his direction. "You might want to cover your ears," he suggested, before holstering his lance on Dean's saddle and following his own advice.

"Ranged units, fire at will!" Bahar barked. "Burn their mongrel hides!"

Robin, in the future, could only describe the ensuing carnage as glorious. Ninety-six cannons simultaneously opened fire on the harbor, prompting Say'ri's eyes to widen in pain at the sheer volume of the cannons going off, and she desperately clamped her hands over her ears. The shells, either designed to explode upon impact into fragments or to bowl through fortifications, crashed into the Valmese defenses with the fury of any and all gods that had ever existed. Even as the Valmese reeled from the artillery, the sky began to darken and the air grew cold; Ylissean sages and Dark Elf mages orchestrated the unleashing of every natural disaster they could think of. Gigantic bolts of lightning crashed down from the sky, splintering stone and electrocuting dozens at once. Great meteors followed shortly thereafter, detonating with such force that it made the cannons seem tame and immolating fully armored knights inside of their armor. Great blizzards popped into existence, despite the warm autumn day, freezing men solid and pelting them with razor sharp shards of ice as big as their forearm. Hurricane force winds picked up, throwing men and horses bodily into each other or the nearby buildings. Meter-thick vines erupted from beneath the Valmese soldiers' feet, piercing armor and impaling men with almost pitiful ease, before unleashing clouds of corrosive gas that melted flesh and armor alike. What few mages the Valmese had attempted to erect wards, but they were almost immediately broken by the barrage. In a few spots, the magic holding the spells together would interfere with the other spells, and they would detonate in a violent burst of raw magic, simply disintegrating anything caught in their way. Even as the effects of the spells faded, the cannons fired a second round, followed by a barrage of arrows. The arrows had few targets left to hit, however, and most clattered uselessly against the ravaged stone.

"Mercy, what destruction," Say'ri gasped in mixed awe and horror at the now-devastated edge of town. Entire buildings had been leveled by the barrage, and what few remained standing would never be habitable again. The cobblestone street along the pier had been utterly ravaged by the spells and cannons, appearing more like an untamed path through the mountains than a part of a civilized town. Whether it was brick or stone, tree or fortification, flesh or armor, practically nothing survived the fury that had been unleashed on them. The Chon'sin warriors had long abandoned charging after their leader, staring in shock at the destruction unleashed where they'd been shortly before.

"Well, that worked better than expected," Robin remarked lightly. Nothing had survived the barrage at all, though he could still hear the panicked shouts of Valmese soldiers within the city itself. "Offload the troops!" he shouted back to Bahar. The Admiral nodded and relayed his order, and soon the invasion ramps of the twelve confiscated Valmese galleons folded down, allowing the Alliance's troops to disembark. From the ship behind them came Chrom at the head of the Shepherds, with Kendal and his Paladins not far behind them.

"Wow," Chrom remarked upon viewing the devastation before them. "Just…wow," he said dumbly. "You made sure those buildings were empty, right?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah, Say'ri here said she'd evacuated the civilians before they engaged the Valmese," Robin said, gesturing towards her with the tip of his lance as the Shepherds and Kendal continued past them. "The civilians are safe, Chrom…though they're probably going to have to move to a new town now..."

"That is _Princess. Han. Say'ri_ ," She corrected furiously. _Crap, did she say 'Princess'?_ Robin thought, now beginning to panic. _Wait…Han…Princess Han Say'ri…brother of Emperor Han Yen'fay. I may have made a tactical misstep._ Say'ri then turned on Chrom, somewhat frightening him with the sheer amount of violence present in her expression. "What is the meaning of this, King Chrom? First your tactician insulted the sacrifice many of my brave warriors made today, and then he physically assaulted me and abducted me! Is this how Ylisse treats her allies!?"

"Hey, I didn't mean it as an insult," Robin said with a defensive tone, "And I had to do _something_ to get you out of the way of the barrage. Or would you rather I had left you in there?" he sneered, despite the rational part of his brain telling him to stop while he was ahead.

"You could have simply explained yourself!" Say'ri snapped. "Your conduct was entirely improper!"

"Uh, lady, you're the one who just called me an idiot and charged into battle like a lunatic before I _could_ explain myself," Robin shot back angrily. If looks could kill, the one Say'ri gave Robin would have made the barrage on the harbor look tame.

"Okay!" Chrom shouted, pulling both of their attentions to him. "Alright, I understand, you are both angry with each other right now. Princess Say'ri, I am terribly sorry for my tactician's actions and his glib tone," he said, "but I tend to give him the freedom to act as he sees fit due to his competence when left uninhibited, so please, turn your anger on me. As it is, Robin is in charge of our combined armies, and I would be honored if you would join forces with us for the moment and help route the Valmese. However, that would require listening to Robin's orders. This isn't a permanent arrangement, I simply ask for your cooperation in this battle."

Say'ri stared at Chrom with narrowed eyes for a moment, before nodding tersely. "Very well, King Chrom," she stated. "I will fight with you, and obey this dullard's commands…for now," she added venomously, glaring at Robin.

Robin returned her glare. "Excellent," he stated, his neutral tone at odds with the anger in his glare. "If that's the case, then your first order is to dispatch your men to the western end of the city. The Shepherds and Kendal will take the north and the Yenicheris will take the east. The Feroxi Army will be right behind us, and after that, the bulk of the Ylissean Army."

"Very well," Say'ri said in a clipped tone. "It gets me away from you, at any rate." With that, she stormed away from them, barking orders to her men in her native tongue. There was some hesitation at first, but they eventually slid into formation and followed her down the road leading west.

"You're always so popular with the ladies," Chrom said dryly as she moved out of earshot.

"Don't you have the Shepherds to lead?" Robin asked rhetorically as Sumia landed next to them. Chrom just chuckled and jumped up behind his wife, before taking off after the rest of the Shepherds.

"You should not have been so confrontational with Lady Han," Cherche said worriedly. "She is a proud woman, and she and her brother, the King of Chon'sin, are quite close. You may have irreparably damaged our chances of allying with them."

"I don't think so," Robin said. "I read into Emperor Han Yen'fay's policies during the two year peace as research material for the tax plans I was told to make, and I don't think he'll let a single incident like this sway his mind. He's too logical to allow his sister's dislike of me to cloud his judgment."

"Perhaps," Cherche said quietly, "but you should be more mindful in the future. Valm is quite invested in tradition and propriety, and while Archaneans may be dismissive of your glib behavior, the rulers of Valm will not be."

"I'll keep it in mind," Robin said sincerely. "But we can worry about politics later. We're back in your home, Cherche, and I intend to liberate it. Are you with me?"

"I'm with you," Cherche responded with a smile, before the pair took off toward the sounds of battle deeper in the city.

 **AN:**

 **The battle of Valm Harbor is complete! And pretty anti-climactic, given that I just nuked the Harbor and had the Ylissean League run roughshod over the disorganized troops lmao.**

 **As I explained before, I believe the Valmese campaign happened much differently in Lucina's time. I mean, the Plegian war had to have dragged out for longer than a few weeks in her time, which would weaken the overall standing of the Ylissean continent, which would drastically affect the Valm campaign, which I would guess would turn it from an underdog fight into something completely impossible to win conventionally. Ergo, they resorted to guerilla tactics and subterfuge to win.**

 **I decided to give Robin and Say'ri a rocky start because no particular reason lol.**

 **Next up: the liberation of Rosanne! And probably some fluff too.**


	85. Chapter 85

**Chapter 85**

 **The Greater Good**

Walter was one of the last people to enter the tent; he had been attending the wounded due to a slight logistics snafu that saw their best clerics onto the wrong ship at the beginning of the voyage, and they'd all been stuck at the very back of the fleet when they'd decided the landing procedures. On the bright side, the logistics company that had taken their place on that vessel had been transporting medical supplies, so he wasn't forced solely to rely on Bersian healing magic. While it was inarguably more effective than Ylissean healing magic for severe wounds, it was also far more draining. He'd had Libra teach him to use a staff during the two year peace, which had been an excellent decision, in hindsight.

Present in the tent were the Division Generals, Admiral Bahar, Kendal, Glen, Flavia, Basilio, Lucina, Virion, Thomas (who was steadfastly ignoring his presence), Phila, Cordelia, Frederick, Chrom, Sumia, Lissa, Lon'qu (though he was technically a Prince now, he still attended solely as Lissa's bodyguard), Morene, Ilfa, Cirith, and a few other officers that were either in charge of important facets of the operation or were simply transcribing the meeting to the records. The last person Walter noticed was a stranger to him; she was one of the local women, one from Chon'sin if his memory of Virion's dossier on the country was correct. Walter had seen her briefly when disembarking with the rest of the Army, talking with Robin and Chrom, but hadn't taken much notice of her. He now realized she must have been commanding the Chon'sin infantry that had been attempting to assist them.

"General, glad you could join us," Chrom greeted with a nod.

"Excuse my tardiness, Your Majesty," Walter responded with a respectful bow. "I was attending to the wounded and lost track of time."

"It sounds like it was time well spent," Chrom said with a smile, before frowning. "Have you seen Robin?"

"His daughter received an injury during the battle," Walter informed him. "A minor lance wound to the leg. While it greatly impedes her ability to walk, it was not life-threatening, and she can still ride her wyvern. He insisted on healing it himself, however. He also mentioned that he would be stopping by the smithy to commission a set of armor for her to wear. "

"He really is a hopelessly doting father," Chrom sighed amusedly, shaking his head.

"So, we must wait for your tactician to finish playing the cleric?" The local woman spoke up incredulously. Walter noted that she seemed angry; far angrier than the situation should really warrant. Had something happened between her and Robin? Come to mention it, she _had_ seemed rather displeased when he'd seen the three of them talking earlier…

"Unfortunately yes, Princess Say'ri," Chrom told her. _She's a princess?_ Walter wondered. _Of Chon'sin? Why would one of royal blood be leading such a risky operation?_ Then Walter remembered Chrom's words at Port Ferox and mentally chuckled. It seemed that the royal families of this world were quite hard-headed. "Robin collected all of the officers' after-action reports before he apparently went to care for his daughter. We can't start without him," Chrom explained.

"Perhaps if the fool hadn't brought his _daughter_ to a _battlefield,_ then she wouldn't have gotten injured," Say'ri spat venomously. "What kind of a father brings his children to war with him!? Why would you allow such a thing, King Chrom?" she asked irately.

"The man you're currently yelling at would, actually," Kendal spoke up, sounding quite amused. "Princess Lucina is his daughter."

Say'ri shot an incredulous glance between the now sheepishly chuckling king and the lightly blushing Lucina. "W-what?" Say'ri asked weakly. "How is that possible!? You are nowhere near old enough to have a daughter that age!"

"Time travel," Robin said brightly as he tore open the tent flap with a flourish. Say'ri scowled upon seeing him. "Long story short, we've got nine of our children in this army who traveled here from the future to stop the Fell Dragon from being resurrected, but we can get to that after the meeting. Sorry I'm late, Chrom," Robin said, turning to him and ignoring Say'ri's utterly dumbfounded look at the little knowledge bomb he'd dropped on her. "Morgan was-"

"We know," Chrom chuckled. "It's fine, we were barely kept waiting at all." Say'ri's displeased expression showed that not everyone was as tolerant of Robin's tardiness.

"Morgan will be along shortly with the after-action reports themselves after she gets fitted for armor," Robin told him, "but I had her read them off to me while I treated her and I've got them mostly memorized. In short: this battle was a rousing success. Our initial bombardment on the harbor resulted in the death of the Valmese commander, Colonel Farber, and several of his subordinate officers were slain as well. The confusion the lack of leadership caused allowed our troops to tear through the Valmese stationed within the city with casual ease. We suffered only a few hundred casualties, less than one percent of our total forces, compared to the near-annihilation of all standing Valmese forces within five miles of the city. Aside from the devastation of the harbor itself, the city is almost entirely intact with no civilian casualties. Whatever men aren't busy offloading the fleet, corralling the prisoners of war, or building fortifications at the city perimeter are assisting with the disposal of the bodies, so if we can get this all done tonight, then life will be able to resume relatively normally for the people here," Robin finished, breathing deeply. "If the rest of the campaign goes like this I'd be quite satisfied with it."

"That's good news," Chrom stated with a smile, to general murmurs of agreement from the others. He then turned to Say'ri. "Thank you, Princess, for opting to aid us in this battle."

"It is no trouble, King Chrom," Say'ri responded politely. "In truth, you have helped me more than I have helped you. We have sought to oust Colonel Farber from this port for some time now, but we have been unable to do so. The tales of Ylissean prowess appear to be greatly understated."

Chrom blushed lightly at that and coughed into his hand, and Walter rolled his eyes. _Youth, always thinking with the wrong head_ , he thought wryly. "So, Princess Say'ri, why have you come all the way into the northeastern region of the Empire to speak with us? Does your brother, Emperor Yen'Fay, seek to ally with us?"

Say'ri's face contorted into a snarl at that. "Nay, King Chrom," she spat out bitterly. "I am here in spite of my brother, not because of him. Chon'sin…" she trailed off for a bit, appearing to choke something back. Tears, maybe, or more likely vomit, considering how enraged she now appeared. "Chon'sin fell to the Empire ten moons ago."

"Whoa, wait, what?" Robin interrupted, before turning to Lucina. "I thought you said that Chon'sin wouldn't fall for…well, probably nine years, right?"

"That is correct," Lucina said grimly. "Or at least, it was…Lady Han, what happened? Why has Chon'sin fallen so soon?"

"Regnier," every Bersian in the tent snarled at once before she could answer.

"You all know of that devil-man?" Say'ri asked sharply, and they all nodded grimly in affirmation. "Yes, _he_ is the reason Chon'sin has fallen. We were easily holding the northern border of Chon'sin against the wretched Imperials. I myself was leading the entire defense from the eastern front. Then one day, I simply stopped receiving reports from my soldiers stationed at the Mila Tree. The scouts I sent to ascertain their fate never returned. The expeditionary force I sent after them was demolished almost to a man; a single messenger managed to escape, and give tale of a demon leading hordes of pig-men against us, riding strange and deadly creatures they have never seen before. Then I received a report from the central front that they were under heavy assault, and immediately began mobilizing my troops to retake the lost territory. Before we could, however, the Imperials were upon us. Regnier's vassal, Leinhart, led them against us, and he quite nearly slew me in battle. I was forced to retreat with merely a tenth of the soldiers we once had. Within days the barricades on the northern border, that had repelled the Empire with casual ease for years, were brushed aside like so much refuse." Say'ri's hands tightened on the hilts of her blades then, so hard that they audibly creaked. "I ordered the men to fall back to Guan Du, in the province of Ji. The border was lost; there was no denying it, and no use wasting their lives to hold an untenable position. But what did I find when I arrived there?" She said her voice pitching up an octave in fury. "I find my _brother_ at the head of a contingent of _Imperials_. While I was tied up at the border, Walhart himself rode through the western flank and shot straight through to Luo'yang and challenged Yen'fay to single combat. He was victorious, and forced my brother to swear fealty. Yen'fay ordered my surrender; I refused. I took my men, brave men still loyal to Chon'sin's people, and fled the country. Upon hearing of the growing dissent against the Conqueror, and of the hatred and fear of this 'Regnier of Hexter', I formed the Resistance; a union of the many disparate groups that chafe under the Conqueror's heel."

"So there is an organized resistance?" Chrom asked.

"Aye…of sorts," Say'ri said uneasily. "Several different groups have formed to seek liberty for Valm. But as of now…we are not formally united under one banner, though we have cooperated on occasion to destabilize the Empire. The Roseannean Resistance is one of the few factions that is formally allied with the loyal sons of Chon'sin, the original Resistance, and so we have been primarily operating within this country, attempting to liberate it…to meager success," she finished embarrassedly.

"I thought Walhart stamped out all dissent," Robin said with a raised eyebrow. "His little 'purges' and all that."

"He tries," Say'ri said dismissively, "but we Resistance are a slippery lot. We strike hard, and then vanish again into the dark of night. Even now, rebels ride to the banners of the many lords of the Valmese continent. Dissent is growing even in Chon'sin, the dynasts are loathe to tolerate such a disrespect of our sovereignty, despite having both the Orcs and the Imperial Army doing their utmost to silence them. United, we could pose a veritable threat to Walhart."

"So, what's stopping you?" Flavia spoke up, looking curious. And also slightly excited at the prospect of battle, but that was a constant, like the sky being blue or the grass being green. Certain axiomatic truths existed in the world, and Khan Flavia's bloodlust was one of them.

"Greed, sloth, jealousy," Say'ri snorted in disdain. "All of the old weaknesses of man. They would all have freedom, aye, but on their own terms. Some refuse to take up arms unless their territory is threatened. Others thrive under the Conqueror's heel, and will not rebel unless there is a profit to be had. 'Liberty' is a fine word, aye, but not always enough to rouse men from their foolishness."

"So," Walter spoke up, "you came to us seeking an alliance to bolster your arguments for unity to these…'dynasts'."

"You have the right of it," Say'ri said, before shifting uneasily. "I fear many distrust me because my brother surrendered to the Conqueror."

"Why did he surrender?" Robin spoke up, sounding suspicious. "I'm not too terribly familiar with Chon'sin as a whole, but I know everything there is to be known from public records about Emperor Han Yen'fay. I even poached some of his tax plans for our reconstruction. He's renowned as an honorable master of the sword, and most importantly, he has never surrendered once in his entire life, and rarely ever been defeated…before now."

"I cannot speak to my brother's thinking," Say'ri said morosely, before her fire returned, "he was a good man once, but Yen'fay is my brother no more! He betrayed our nation, our people; even our own parents, slain by Imperial assassins! If I were to meet him on the battlefield, I would strike him down just the same as any other Imperial!" she shouted. Walter frowned; she was a naturally angry woman, from what he could see. She reminded him of a female version of Gerald. That was very concerning.

"So, what are we up against here?" Robin asked next. "Conventional recruiting procedures and data from your last census would indicate that Walhart is capable of raising an army of two hundred thousand troops. Regnier will be able to field a hundred and forty five thousand Orcs. How accurate is that?"

Say'ri's face turned grim. "Far, far too low," she said softly. "While your estimates of the Dark One's army is correct, Walhart does not subscribe to conventional recruitment procedures; he institutes a draft in every corner of his empire. Every man and strong lad capable of bearing arms is conscripted, the women, children, and elderly left to tend the fields. The Empire can field six hundred thousand troops. Chon'sin, now under Walhart's control, can yield five hundred thousand. Together, they form an army of over a million men." That grave proclamation hung in the air like a thundercloud for a long, tense, deathly silent moment.

"Uh, Chrom," Lissa said nervously, breaking the silence. "Please tell me that I'm hearing things, and that Princess Say'ri did not just say that Walhart commands _a million men!_ "

"You heard correctly," Say'ri said grimly, before her face turned confident. "But what are a million men against the Ylissean dogs of war! You faced similar odds before, the Plegian Army outnumbering you three to one in your last war, and you came out on top! You repelled General Dalton, one of the most decorated Valmese Generals in the Empire, despite the aid of the Orcs! You destroyed the entire Valmese Navy! Your daring strategies have awoken and inspired people across the continent! Together, we can unite the dynasts and overthrow Walhart! We need only work together!"

"I'd advise against it Chrom," Robin said warily.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Say'ri said icily, rounding on the tactician. "You are mighty, aye, but there are only so many of you. You will need troops!"

"We've got another hundred thousand troops that will be arriving a month from tomorrow," Robin countered. "but even so, we didn't win the war the first time by conventional means. I may not be an expert on Chon'sin, but I know a few important details you neglected to mention. First is that while the dynasts are not bound to Emperor Yen'fay by the same strict oaths an Ylissean Duke or Plegian Emir is, all of them subscribe to a code of ethics, called _bushido_ , that…well, frankly it's rather severe. By rights, they should commit ritual suicide before betraying their lord." Say'ri tensed up at that and glared at Robin angrily as he smiled smugly. _Gotcha,_ he thought. "Furthermore, Chon'sin happens to be one of the most nationalistic countries in the known world; just the thought of listening to foreigners would be repugnant to the average native of Chon'sin, let alone their lords. Especially so given the recent occupation. The more likely outcome of our requesting their aid is that they will either kill themselves, or worse, us for daring to suggest it."

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Say'ri asked testily.

"Yes, actually," Robin replied stoically. "Conventional warfare is going to be a nightmare, no matter what way we look at it. Instead of wasting thousands of lives in a struggle that's extremely lopsided against us, I propose we win the same way we did in Lucina's timeline: guerilla warfare. We secure Rosanne and fortify it for our base of operations. We then hold the line, striking at targets of opportunity, while we dispatch spies and saboteurs to spread rumors and misinformation, as well as sabotaging key pieces of infrastructure. Walhart's greatest asset, the size of his army, is also his greatest weakness; the logistics required to support an army increase exponentially with its size. A few well aimed strikes at that logistics train will have his army collapse under its own weight. It's risky, yes, but not as risky as playing with such a sensitive political structure as Chon'sin's or facing Walhart in open combat with the troops we have."

Walter frowned at that plan. His frown grew angry as he saw most of the assembled leaders hesitate, before giving reluctant nods. There were no children here. They all knew what war was like. And they all knew that Robin's plan would require targeting civilians. They would have to destroy access roads, flood farmlands, sabotage public works, and destabilize governments on every level. They would have to invite death and chaos to the ordinary citizens of Valm. Walter was frankly floored at the idea that _Robin_ , of all people, would suggest it! He was even more shocked that nobody else had spoken out! He couldn't be the only one thinking this, could he? The reluctant expressions around him supported that belief. Robin himself didn't look comfortable with it. Nobody wanted to do this. Why was nobody speaking up?

" _Dammit! I can't do this! Sir Walter, I can't go on! What good is peace if we earn it this way!?"_ Jefferson's voice rang in his mind. That's what they needed right now, Walter thought morosely. Men like Jefferson. Men who would speak up against this…injustice. But nobody was. Nobody else had a better plan, after all, even Walter couldn't think of one. Were they truly going to go through with this!?...he realized miserably that they were. This was happening.

Walter winced as Justino's ring began heating up. Once in a while, Walter would feel spikes of warmth from it, maybe an echo of an emotion or two, but the sheer heat radiating from the ring now, the sheer _anger_ he felt pouring out of it, it was certainly no trick of the mind. Justino was livid, trying desperately to tell Walter…what?

 _What do you want from me, Justino?_ He asked as he desperately tried to ignore the very real pain in his ring finger. Phila had taken notice of him clutching his own hand, and was looking at him worriedly. _What is wrong?_ To Walter's panic, his vision began to fade. Before he could figure out what was wrong with him, however, he could see once more. And he didn't want to see it at all.

It was him and Justino, standing outside of Greyhampton. It was _that_ night. _No,_ he thought in horror, misery welling up inside of him. _Not this. Anything but this._

"They ran to the guard camp," Justino said gravely. _Justino, why are you showing me this?_ he thought miserably. He saw this moment enough in his dreams. It was the moment he'd lost his way. He never wanted to see it, but his dreams didn't care. Neither did Justino, apparently, as the memory continued. "What now?"

"…I will return to Ecclesia, and consult with his Holiness," his past self responded after a length of time. _Justino, please,_ he asked, even as his hand continued to burn. _We both know how this ends. Why do you want me to see it again? Do I not see it enough?_ _Must it not haunt just my dreams, but my waking eyes as well?_ He fell forward from the pain, but something stopped him. He realized that he was hallucinating; whatever he was doing in the real world, he must have fallen over there as well, and something had caught him. But that hardly mattered to Walter now; he stared miserably at the past repeating itself before his eyes.

"By the time we return to Ecclesia, Hironeiden will already know everything," Justino said gravely, urgently. "We must strike now!"

"'Strike'?" his past self asked warily. "What do you propose, Justino?"

"We make it look as if Hexter raided the village," Justino responded stoically. "Hironeiden will declare war against Hexter and Vellond will be dragged into it, creating the chaos that those Kaedes Dark Elves wanted. Everything will go in our favor."

"Justino!" his past self barked in horror as present-Walter shut his eyes and looked away. _Please, Justino, stop this,_ he begged. _I know I am a failure. A horrid, evil man. Why do you torture me like this? Are we not friends? Brothers!?_ But the vision continued. "That's…unconscionable!"

"If we don't keep this contained, everything is lost, Walter," Justino answered gravely. "Walter!" Justino barked as Walter didn't respond. _Damn it, Justino, just stop!_ Walter mentally screamed. He knew what came next. _"You're right, Justino,"_ he would say with a heavy sigh, before nodding once. _"Rally the troops. We march on Greyhampton."_ Walter couldn't stand to hear it again. He heard it enough already, every night.

"No, Justino!" his past self shouted, shocking Walter. _This…this isn't what happened,_ Walter thought numbly. _What is going on?_ "How could you even suggest that!?"

"It's for the greater good!" Justino said angrily.

"It is wrong!" Walter snarled vehemently. Walter remembered thinking those exact words, even as he'd nodded reluctantly, then ordered Justino to rally the troops and march to Greyhampton. But…why was he speaking them in this…memory? A hallucination? Walter wasn't sure anymore. "No, it is beyond wrong; it is horrid! Unacceptable! Cooperating with the Dark Elves is one thing, but I will _not_ slaughter innocent people! That is outright e _vil_! Have you taken leave of your senses!?" Walter felt his eyes water as guilt filled every fiber of his being. He'd wanted so much to say all of that, but he hadn't. These were his exact thoughts given life in a future that could have been, but wasn't. All because Walter was more concerned with fulfilling the words of the Oracle, a false prophet, than he was with fulfilling the Lord's true Will, the Will given to mankind in the Scriptures. He had known all along what the Scriptures said, and how the Oracle contradicted them; how was he so blind? So willfully, horribly blind? Walter struggled to breathe as this torturous vision of what could have been continued.

His alternate past self visibly calmed down, even as Justino winced at Walter's outburst, looking for all the world like a kicked dog. "Inform the troops that we return to Ecclesia at once. Never suggest something like… _that_ again," his past self spat in disdain.

"…very well, Captain," Justino said meekly, before saluting stiffly and walking away. He stopped for but a moment, before looking over his shoulder. "We will regret not acting." He then turned back forward and began walking toward where they'd left their troops.

"Not as much as we would have regretted acting," Walter said to himself, starting morosely at Greyhampton. "We will likely be executed for this. Perhaps…perhaps even my son," he whispered. "But I would never be able to face him if we murdered these people. I would not _want_ to live with that regret." Walter's eyes squeezed shut again as the raw truth of those words hit home. After a few seconds, he opened them. He was once again in the war tent, with the other members of the war council, who were all staring at him in shock or concern as he practically laid on the table, Phila doing her best to hold him up in his armor.

"Walter, are you alright?" Phila asked, sounding horribly worried. "You were holding your hand in pain, and then you just…collapsed. We've been trying to get you to wake up for ten minutes now."

 _What was that…oh…I see now, Justino…_ he thought guiltily. That wasn't a memory. That was what Justino had wanted to happen, he realized. He'd wanted Walter to argue. To tell him he was wrong. Justino had wanted Walter to refuse his suggestion, to do the right thing. Justino had wanted to play the Devil's advocate, and hoped beyond hope that Walter would see that and refuse. He'd known it was the logical choice, but he'd never wanted to do it. He'd wanted Walter to validate his hesitance…but Walter had never given that validation. He'd agreed to the plan. Then they'd done the unspeakable. There was no more anger or heat coming from the ring; now it was ice cold, painful on his burned hand, and Walter could hardly bear the guilt and misery pouring from it. In conjunction with his own, he still could not support himself fully. He could barely even manage to keep the tears in his eyes from falling.

"General?" Chrom asked worriedly when Walter didn't respond to Phila.

Walter remained silent. He knew why Justino had wanted to show him that but…just why? Why now? It didn't take Walter long to realize why he'd done that. Why he'd been so furious initially. Walter had looked around desperately for someone to speak out…and not once considered doing so himself. Justino saw him about to repeat the same mistake again, but on an even greater scale. Justino wanted him to speak out against Robin's plan, and he hadn't. That's why he was so furious. And now Walter was furious with himself. Why hadn't he considered it? What was wrong with him!? He knew the horrible, unbearable cost of selling one's soul like that. He knew the effects it would have on both the citizens of Valm and the members of this council. Yet he had still remained silent. He was disgusted with himself. He was furious with himself. _I should have known better,_ he thought bitterly.

" _I don't care about that, sir," Jefferson stated defiantly. "This is wrong."_ Walter remembered the look on Jefferson's face as he'd said that. There was not just defiance and disgust, but resolve. Jefferson knew that he was in the right. He didn't care if it would get him imprisoned or even executed; he had made the stand that Walter always wished he could. Walter realized what he had to do now. He took all of the misery, guilt, and self-loathing he was feeling and directed it with his gaze to the only outlet he could: Robin.

"No," Walter growled quietly, glaring intently at the tactician.

"Uh…what?" Robin said nervously, subconsciously stepping back a bit from the sheer fury Walter was leveling at him in his gaze.

"No," Walter repeated, much louder this time. It bordered on shouting. "I won't do it."

"You won't do…what?" Robin asked, openly confused now. "Are you feeling alright, Walter?"

"No, I am not," Walter snapped, causing Robin to flinch. "You just casually suggested targeting civilians because it would be easier than fighting the Empire in open combat. Why in the _Hell_ would I be alright!?" Walter roared. Everyone jumped at the sheer rage in those words.

"Walter, I like this about as much as you do," Robin said quietly, "but-"

"But what, Robin?" Walter interrupted, his voice deathly quiet this time. Robin immediately closed his mouth at the dangerous tone of Walter's voice. "But _what_?" he snarled when Robin didn't respond. "But it's the 'only way'? But it's the 'logical approach'? But it's for the _'greater good'_? What good is peace if we earn it this way!?" he barked. He took no small amount of satisfaction from seeing Jefferson's words visibly have the same effect on Robin as it had on him. "There are no 'buts'," Walter seethed. "The 'greater good' is made of smaller acts of compassion. There are no shortcuts to Heaven, no easy way out. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and you can trust that coming from a man practically all the way down that road. So, 'but' what!?" Robin turned away from Walter, and the sight made Walter's stomach turn with rage. "Don't you look away from me!" he shouted. "Answer for yourself!"

"General, I understand that you have strong feelings about this," Chrom said gently, "but-"

"Hold your tongue!" Walter shouted, incensed. Frederick bristled at Walter's tone and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and practically everyone was taken aback from such an open display of disrespect from _Walter_ of all people, but nobody did anything as Walter turned his attention to his liege, who had snapped his mouth shut immediately. "What has come over you!?" he shouted incredulously. Chrom wilted beneath his fury, and Frederick stepped forward protectively, but did nothing else as Walter simply stood there and seethed. "Two years ago, when I first arrived in Ylisse, you would be more enraged than I am if Robin had suggested that, yet you now remain silent. What happened to the Prince who loved the common folk so much that he went outside of his sister's jurisdiction just to help them? What have you done with him? Because you are surely not him, but an impostor. What would your sister think of you?" he said in a glacial tone. Chrom looked down in shame, appearing more like a child being scolded than a King. "What is wrong with all of you!?" he said turning his attention to the rest, many of them taking a reflexive step backwards. "Why am _I_ the only one speaking out against this? The one with the most blood on his hands, the one who has the least right to make moral claims!? Practically nobody in this tent has refrained from judging me for my crimes at some point or another, yet _I_ am the one speaking out!?" Everyone present turned their heads down. Nobody was willing to meet his gaze. "Are we to sell our souls, and more importantly the lives of the innocent, for an easier victory!?" He challenged. Nobody responded. "Are we not here to depose a tyrant for doing precisely what we are all planning to do? Are we to relive Exalt Bertrand's genocide, but on the citizens of Valm this time!?" Again there was no response. Walter's fury bubbled over and he slammed his fist against the table, causing everyone to wince. "As the Kings and Queens and military officers of these people, we are obligated to _protect_ them, not murder them!" Walter shouted. "They are not pieces on a board, or statistics, but the very reason we fight! I will not do it," he said shortly, in a low, lethal tone. "Never again will I take an innocent life by choice. There is no result or cause that is worthy of that sacrifice." The lack of response was infuriating him more than anything else, and he shoved himself off of the table angrily, the force of it pushing the table along the ground and knocking over several stacks of papers. "I resign." Finally they all looked at him, in abject shock. "This is desertion, and the punishment for desertion is death. I realize this. But I would rather die a hundred deaths for each resident of Greyhampton than take one more innocent life. I'm disgusted to see that I am the only one with such resolve." Once again they averted their gazes, and he just barely restrained himself from drawing his mace. What little part of his rational mind remained told him to leave before he did something he would regret, and he heeded it; he turned and stormed out of the tent.

As Walter stormed out, with his wife, son, and best friend following a short moment later in a panic, Robin leaned against the table with his eyes squeezed shut. _Gods, he's right,_ Robin thought miserably. _What in the nine hells am I doing? I'm supposed to save lives, not condemn them. We're here to liberate these people, not kill them. What's happened to me?_ He joined the Shepherds because he thought it was a great idea. No politics, no military rules and regulations and chains of command, just people who wanted to help people going out and doing it. He didn't join them to sentence thousands to death because it was convenient. He scoured his mind for when he'd become… _this_ …but couldn't point to any one event. _It doesn't matter,_ Robin realized. _We almost went down that road. We would have if not for Walter. But we haven't gone there yet, and we don't have to._

"Walter's right," Robin said, breaking the heavy, guilt-ridden silence that had fallen over the tent. "If we do that, we're no better than Walhart. Forget I even suggested it. Princess Say'ri, yours was the only alternative plan we have. Is there _anything_ we can do to make it work?"

"I…I have but one idea," Say'ri said quietly, shocked at the turn of events as much as Robin was. "It will be incredibly dangerous, but it could make allying with Chon'sin easier, and maybe even remove Regnier's presence in the war."

"I'm listening," Robin said hopefully.

000

Thomas was looking for his father. He'd stormed out of the tent so quickly, and taken off just shy of a run, so the three of them had lost him almost immediately in the sea of tents. Phila had taken off toward the prisoner's camp, fearing Walter would immediately turn himself in on desertion charges. Kendal had taken off toward the Shepherds' section of the encampment, thinking Walter would go there to cool off. But Thomas knew exactly where his father would be heading; he'd asked about the location earlier when he'd seen Thomas helping offload the ships. So Thomas wormed his way through the small tent city outside of Valm Harbor and strode into the town proper with purpose. The people there looked at him with a mixture of expressions. Happiness, for having ousted Colonel Farber, who had by all accounts been a petty little tyrant. Hope, that most dangerous of things, because they dared to believe that maybe the Empire's days were numbered. Fear, especially from the elderly, because they knew what invasions, no matter how just, really meant. Thomas did his best to ignore those particular townsfolk; he couldn't bear to look them in the eye, given what had just transpired.

 _Perhaps…perhaps Father didn't truly die,_ Thomas thought contemplatively. He remembered the way he saw his father as a child. He'd seen him as a righteous crusader, a paragon of justice. It had shattered him when he'd learned what his father had done. He'd been depressed, then enraged, then bitter, oh so very bitter, and he'd stayed that way for years. He'd come to the conclusion that his father had died years before, and his body just had catching up to do. But when Thomas had lacked the courage to argue against Robin's plan, it surprised no one more than him to see his father make a stand. For a moment, he'd seen the man he'd idolized as a child. _Maybe…maybe I should not have judged him so harshly,_ Thomas admitted to himself, even as Morgan's words echoed once more in his mind. It was a bitter realization, and he struggled to swallow it.

He arrived at his destination: this town's temple to Naga, the Divine Dragon. It was a modest little building, the only thing truly distinguishing it from the other two-story buildings in the area being the Mark of Naga above the door. The local priests had graciously agreed to allow Kendal's Paladins to set up their own little shrine to the One Lord of Bersia within, after recovering from their initial shock that Orcs weren't the only sapient beings in Bersia. Thomas gently pushed open the door, and allowed himself a small moment of triumph; there knelt his father, at the end of the long rows of pews, sitting on both knees in front of a golden cross. _I told them where he'd head first, but they didn't listen,_ Thomas thought, with no small amount of smugness. _I guess nobody truly knows their father better than his own son._

Walter didn't respond to the door opening, and he didn't respond as Thomas strode slowly down the aisle towards him. He had just stepped up behind his father and opened his mouth to speak when his father spoke first.

"One would think that a man would feel righteous after doing what is right," Walter said quietly. He didn't look at Thomas, but Thomas knew that his father knew it was him who was standing there. "It may or may not surprise you to learn that the only thing I can feel is guilt."

"Yes…well…you are not the only one," Thomas said morosely as he knelt beside his father, gazing at the cross as he did. "The entire war council is likely feeling the same way…I know I am, at least." He then laughed ruefully. "I believe you even made _Morene_ feel guilty, and I never thought I'd see the day a Half-Vampire would feel remorse."

"For three years, I have felt that remorse every day," Walter said quietly. "Every night, when I am forced to relive all that I have done. One would think I would finally feel like I have done the right thing…but all I can think is how I am three years too late." Thomas said nothing. He couldn't really think of anything to say. "I have something for you, Thomas."

"Uh…what is it?" Thomas asked in confusion. Walter then reached down his neck, into his armor, and pulled out what was on the end of the chain.

"Ruth and my wedding bands," Walter said quietly. Thomas paled as his father pulled the chain off of his neck and held it out to him. Reverently, and a bit hesitantly, he took them. He felt a cold sensation in his gut as he realized that he'd seen these before. His father confirmed his fears with his next words. "It is only right that you have them. After all, you are the one who found them in Greyhampton."

"Father, I…" Thomas said as he stared down at them. "I don't…"

"I don't believe that losing them was an accident," Walter said bitterly. "I believe I lost them by providence. Your mother would have been disgusted with what I did. She would have hated me, more than I hate myself. I believe that I lost those rings because your mother's love for me died with the villagers of Greyhampton. Perhaps reliving Greyhampton every night for the past three years was your mother's idea for punishment, and the Lord thought it a good idea. Regardless, I do not deserve to have them. They are yours now."

"…If you don't deserve them, then why should I?" Thomas asked. Walter finally turned his gaze from the cross to look at his son in surprise. "You were right back there. Not a one of us has felt the slightest hesitance in branding you a war criminal, or an apostate, or a traitor. After all, we're all so _righteous_ , aren't we? Some of us have killed civilians before, 'just following orders', but never have we unleashed Hell on earth. Why wouldn't we be better people than you? Yet when it came down to brass tacks, you were the only one with the courage to stand for what was right…it appears Mother will be quite cross with both of us when we go to see her," he laughed bitterly. "Why would she love either of us?"

"Why indeed?" Walter asked, just as bitterly as his son. "But it is not too late for you, Thomas. Nothing I do for the rest of my days will be anything but penance for my crimes. But you have committed no such crimes, not yet. You do not have to go down that road, and I wish more than anything that you never do. You hesitated today…"

"…but never again," Thomas finished, his voice full of resolve. He then stood up, slipping his parents' wedding bands around his neck as he did so. "I will make her proud."

"You already do," Walter said softly, giving a rare smile at his son. He quirked his eyebrow, however, as Thomas held his hand out to him.

"As do you," Thomas said. "Now, on your feet, Father," he urged when Walter didn't move. He hesitantly reached out and grabbed Thomas' hand, and was pulled to his feet. "Who knows what they've gotten up to back there in our absence? We need you to keep us on the right path. _I_ need you."

Walter smiled wider and placed his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "As I need you," he said softly, before the smile faded. "I'm…I'm sorry, Thomas," he said miserably. "For everything you've endured because of me."

"I realize you never wanted any of that for me," Thomas responded uncomfortably. "That you were just trying to do what you thought I needed. I won't pretend it won't be difficult, or that I'm no longer angry. But…you're trying. I owe it to you to try just as hard."

"You owe me nothing," Walter stated, "but I'm grateful you're giving me a chance."

"What else is family for?" Thomas asked with a smile. "Now, let's get back there before they decide to do something stupid, like try to resurrect and tame Grima and set him against Walhart." Walter couldn't help but laugh at that.

000

Robin sighed as Chrom, Lucina, and he exited the tent behind everyone else. Phila and Kendal had returned fifteen minutes into discussing their new plan. They hadn't found Walter. Robin hoped he hadn't done anything…drastic. His fears were erased as he saw who was waiting for them…and replaced by an entirely new set of them.

"General," Chrom said meekly from next to him. _Is this what having a dad feels like?_ Robin said as he wilted under the stern, disapproving gaze he was leveling at them. He absently noted that Thomas was standing next to him, perhaps a bit uncomfortable, but clearly in solidarity with his father.

"I am here to finalize my resignation," Walter said shortly.

"As am I," Thomas stated just as shortly. Robin had to restrain his laughter; if they were wearing the same armor, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But if he laughed, they'd probably kill him.

"There is no need for that," Lucina said hurriedly. "We have come up with a new plan."

"And what would that be?" Walter asked lightly, though there was a dangerous edge to it. "Will we be targeting 'only' a 'few' civilians this time?"

"We won't be targeting civilians at all," Robin stated, stepping forward. It was his awful plan; he wouldn't let his best friend and his best friend's daughter take the heat for it. _What in the nine hells do they feed these Bersians?_ Robin wondered as he came to a stop in front of Walter. He barely came up to Walter's neck, and Kendal was even taller. Thomas himself was barely any shorter than his father. Glen was somewhere between Walter and Kendal. The Dark Elves and Morene were easily as tall as he was. Combined with the disapproving glare Walter was shooting him, he wouldn't lie and pretend he wasn't a little bit intimidated. "Princess Say'ri has suggested that we liberate an oracle called the 'Voice of Naga' from captivity by the Orcs. She says this oracle will be able to help us persuade the dynasts of Chon'sin to join us."

"And why was this not suggested before?" Walter asked politely, though there was still a hard edge to his tone.

"Because where she's being held, the Mila Tree, happens to contain the Gate that the Orcs used to get here," Robin told him, and Walter frowned. "Fifty thousand Orcs, led by the Gorzanik Chieftain Urukubarr, now stand between us and liberating Valm…so I'm sure you can understand how badly we need you," he said, holding out his hand. "After all, there aren't many people in this world with as much experience at killing Orcs as you have."

Walter gazed at him critically, but eventually nodded and took Robin's hand, shaking it. "Very well," Walter stated stiffly. "When do we march on this 'Mila Tree'?"

"After the first part of the Hironeiden Army arrives," Robin stated. "We're going to be liberating Castle Virion first, to use it as a stronghold against the Valmese."

"Can we count on your help there as well?" Chrom asked, somewhat nervous, as he stepped forward.

Walter gazed at Chrom critically for a moment, before nodding. "I swore an oath to House Ylisse," Walter stated, saluting. "I am not completely faithless."

"Nobody said you were," Chrom assured him. "You were right," he said, deciding to just get the issue out there. "Robin was wrong for suggesting it. We were all wrong for not arguing against it."

"This war is going to be ugly," Robin added, "but that's no excuse to purposefully make it uglier. Thanks for talking some sense into me," he added guiltily.

"We will not falter again," Chrom swore. "I will prove myself worthy of the oaths you've all sworn to me."

"And I'm going to prove myself worthy of the title you've all given me," Robin said.

Walter gave a small smile at that. "You already are," Walter assured them, clapping his hands on their shoulders. "There are many obstacles along the path of righteousness, and it is easy to stumble or lose our way. Nobody knows that better than I. We are all obligated to keep one another upright and moving forward. No man is an island; we are all reliant upon one another."

"Damn straight," Robin said with a smile. "And I couldn't want for better people to rely on. We're going to win this war, the right way, together."

"Together," Walter affirmed with a wide smile.

 **AN:**

 **THIS ARC NEEDS MORE DRAMA**


	86. Chapter 86

**Chapter 86**

 **Sharing Burdens**

Robin set down his quill with a sigh and rubbed his tired eyes. After the dramatic events at the war council he'd gone to his tent in the Ylissean Army's camp outside of the city to get the Army ready to march tomorrow, and he'd been at it for about six hours now. Practically everybody else had gone to bed by now, except for him.

"Just gotta finish the Shepherds' cooking roster," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes once more. "Then sleep."

"Why are you still awake, tactician?" a heavily accented voice said behind him. So out of focus and unaware was he that the voice caused him to yelp in a rather girly manner, and he immediately spun and readied a wind spell-

-only to see Say'ri standing there, looking at him with a slight smirk of amusement.

"Good gods, Princess, you scared me," Robin said with a sigh as he dispelled the magic. Then something occurred to him. "Uh…why are you in my tent?"

"I attempted to get your attention from the entrance twice, but you did not pay heed," Say'ri said with no small amount of amusement. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings, tactician. Such single-mindedness will get you killed."

"You too?" Robin asked with an exasperated sigh. Say'ri quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Morene keeps saying the same damn thing, after teleporting in out of nowhere and scaring the living daylights out of me."

"Ah, yes, the leech," Say'ri muttered darkly. Robin immediately feared that he'd said something wrong _again._ "I will be honest, tactician; the second I saw her I immediately reconsidered this alliance."

"You said you had a run-in with Leinhart, right?" Robin asked, and Say'ri confirmed it with a terse nod. "Well, you don't need to fear Morene. I can guarantee that she hates Leinhart more than you do, for whatever reason she has. She won't be betraying us to him."

"Good," Say'ri said, though her voice was still uncertain. "But your King's questionable choice in allies is not why I wished to speak with you."

"Then why did you wish to speak with me?" Robin asked. "Not to be rude, but I don't really have the time for idle chatter."

"Your habit of being rude is exactly why I am here," Say'ri responded bluntly.

"Are you still mad about the harbor?" Robin asked, before sighing in exasperation. "I'm sorry Princess, really, but time was of the essence and I couldn't spare any to explain the situation to you, not as angry as you were."

"I realize this, and that is why I am no longer angry with you," Say'ri answered, surprising Robin. "But should another situation like that occur with the dynasts, they will not be so forgiving as I. If it had been Lord Cao Meng'de at the harbor instead of me, he would have slain you on the spot. Lord Yuan Ben'chu, had he been there, would have aided you until the battle's conclusion…then returned to Chon'sin and used his considerable political acumen to block our attempts to unite Chon'sin against the Conqueror. Your King may allow you to be informal, and I may be tolerant of it, but I warn you now: the dynasts of Chon'sin care greatly for formality and propriety. Your behavior and attitude will simply not suffice."

"You…you have a point," Robin begrudgingly admitted. "I rubbed a few of the Ylissean Dukes the wrong way too when we first met, and from what Virion and Cherche tell me, they're pretty lax compared to northern Valmese nobles."

"And the northerners are lax compared to the dynasts of Chon'sin," Say'ri added. "Which is why I am going to be giving you lessons in etiquette."

Robin outright laughed at that, causing Say'ri to glare at him. "Sorry, sorry," Robin said quickly. "It's just that I barely have time to see my daughter or even _eat_ during the day. I don't have time for etiquette lessons."

"What, do you do all of the planning yourself?" Say'ri asked dryly.

"Uh…yes?" Robin answered uncertainly, causing Say'ri's mouth to drop a bit in stupefaction. Honestly, other than her glaring or shouting at him, it was the biggest display of emotion he'd seen from her thus far. "What?"

"You…are you insane!?" Say'ri asked incredulously. "One person alone cannot coordinate an entire army!"

"Well, I don't see an alternative," Robin said a bit defensively. "I've delegated as much as I believe I can off to the other military leaders, but that still leaves me with overall troop movements, and handling the scouting reports, and watching our supplies, and-"

"No," Say'ri said shortly.

"Uh…what?" Robin said, a bit put off at the interruption.

"I have commanded an army twice this size," Say'ri answered, "and I can tell you that you are doing this all wrong. Mercy, it is a wonder you managed to leave your own continent!"

"Alright then, _Princess_ ," Robin said, pouring as much sarcasm into her title as possible, "What _should_ I be doing then?"

"You should…fie, it will take too long to explain everything you must know," Say'ri sighed. "I suppose I have little choice but to help you."

"While I'm not going to argue against help from anyone that isn't Morgan," Robin responded cautiously, "why do you want to help? Don't you have to lead the Chon'sin soldiers?"

"That is what subordinate officers are for," Say'ri stated. "My lieutenants are more than capable of administrating in my absence. But it is clear that without aid, you will inevitably run this army into the ground."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Robin muttered sarcastically.

"It is not a lack of faith, but simple fact," Say'ri retorted. "Already you show signs of exhaustion, and the war has not truly started for you yet. No one man is an island," she said, reminding Robin uncomfortably of what had happened earlier today, "however capable he may be. As I am both capable and in a position to help you, it would be a poor idea to let you inevitably drag my soldiers down with you."

"Do you mean it?" Robin asked, and Say'ri nodded. Robin visibly deflated in relief. "Alright then, I can't really argue, and I don't really want to either. I should have been in bed three hours ago."

"Aye, you should have, if not for your foolish pride," Say'ri stated with a small smirk. "You could easily have asked for help. Any of the other commanders here are more than capable, and if not them, then perhaps you could have asked that lummox Virion or his maidservant for assistance."

"I see Virion's already introduced himself," Robin said lightly.

"I knew of his reputation long before I ever met him," Say'ri said sourly. "And I have met him before, at a summit before the Conqueror began his conquest. Yen'fay quite nearly started a war then and there when the oaf would not cease his flirtations." She briefly donned a wistful smile, but it was gone before Robin could comment on it. "But as much of a philanderer and fool as he is, I will not say he is not capable. Why did you not ask him for assistance?"

"Have you ever played a strategy game against Virion?" Robin asked, and Say'ri shook her head. "Well, let's just say that our soldiers would kill him before the Valmese did."

"I see," Say'ri said with a grimace. "Then why not his maidservant? Though I was occupied with the defense of the northern border of Chon'sin, I heard many tales of Lady Cherche's cunning and strategic thinking. Though she only lasted a couple of years against the Conqueror, given Rosanne's small army and her relative inexperience in such matters, she did an admirable job. She lasted far longer than any other similarly sized nation, at any rate."

"I am flattered by your praise, Lady Han," a voice came from the entrance to the tent. Robin and Say'ri both turned to see Cherche standing there, bowing politely. "Forgive my interruption of your conversation, Lady Han, but I had wished to see if the Grandmaster was still working."

"Aye, the fool," Say'ri snorted. "I was just admonishing him for refusing to seek aid."

"We've had the same conversation before," she said, shooting Robin a pointed glance, which he avoided by looking at the cooking roster that was suddenly very interesting. "He refuses the aid of milord, myself, or his daughter, claiming that he doesn't want his relationship with us to be based on work."

"Pointless pride, foolish sentimentality, and most importantly a waste of talent," Say'ri scoffed. "You will report to us in the morning, and we will find work for you. All three of you."

"You can't just order Cherche around like that," Robin said with a frown. "And you definitely can't order my daughter around. You can boss Virion around all day though," he finished lightly.

"Is she not your subordinate?" Say'ri asked heatedly. Robin reluctantly nodded. "Is she not capable?" Robin nodded again. "Does she have other duties that would interfere with her ability to work for you that cannot be forsaken or passed to another?"

"She serves Virion, remember?" Robin said pointedly.

"Aye, and that fool will be joining us, so I do not see the issue," Say'ri rebutted, before turning back to Cherche. "Ignore the Grandmaster. All three of you are to report here in the morning."

"I thought I just told you that you can't boss my daughter around?" Robin said hotly. Say'ri just waved him off irritably.

"As you wish, Lady Han," Cherche said amusedly as Robin sulked at being so easily overridden. "Good night, Robin."

"Good night, Cherche," Robin grumbled. Cherche bowed politely to the pair of them, before exiting the tent. He then turned to Say'ri. "Don't you think it sets a bad example, to so openly defy the titular head of this alliance?"

"Perhaps," Say'ri said with a slight, nonchalant shrug. "But your refusal to accept aid from your subordinates sets an even worse example. It shows them that you are stubborn, foolish, and proud. Give better orders and they need not be defied."

Robin chuckled at that. "That makes sense, I suppose," he said amusedly. "Well, since I'm getting help now, I suppose I can actually get some sleep tonight. I just have to go tend to Dean and-"

"Do you mean your wyvern?" Say'ri asked sourly, doubtlessly remembering being manhandled by him. Robin nodded. "Lady Cherche has already taken the liberty of getting your mount settled in for the night. Be sure to thank her for it."

"I would have," Robin said a bit defensively. He wasn't _that_ much of an idiot!

"One can never know with a boor such as you," Say'ri scoffed, and Robin frowned. "I will see you in the morning for your first etiquette lesson."

"Oh, joy," Robin muttered sarcastically as Say'ri left his tent, shooting one last glare over her shoulder at his tone.

000

"Morgan?" Walter asked in confusion as he walked through the camp in the early hours of the morning. He was no stranger to rising early, especially since Greyhampton, but he very rarely ever saw Robin's daughter out and about before first light. "What are you doing awake?"

"Oh, hi General Lennart!" Morgan said with a smile. "Cherche came and got me, apparently Princess Say'ri finally managed to convince Dad to let us help!"

"I see," Walter mused. "From the sound of it, this doesn't seem to bother you overmuch."

"Of course not, I get to help Dad!" Morgan said cheerily. Walter smiled ruefully; Thomas willing to give him a chance, aye, but it would be a long time before Thomas was ever that enthusiastic about him. "Besides, Severa's been getting on my case about not doing anything around here, and I can't exactly argue that she's wrong, so maybe this will get her off my back."

Walter frowned. He'd noticed several of the future children being rather…distant with Morgan. The only three who were "friendly" with her were Noire, Nah, and his own son. Yarne seemed abjectly terrified of her, Kjelle occasionally shot her a distrusting glance or two, Laurent simply kept his distance whenever possible, and Severa seemed to outright dislike her (more than she seemingly disliked everyone else, anyway). Kendal had pointed it out to him the day after the battle against the Valmese Navy, and once he'd got around to looking, it seemed plain as day. The future children had some sort of issue with Morgan. Walter could only wonder what. "One can hope," Walter said aloud. "Will Thomas be aiding you?"

"Dunno, haven't seen him, he's probably still sleeping," Morgan said with a shrug. "I'm sure _Princess Lucina_ has other stuff for him to do anyway," she huffed. That was another thing Walter had noticed, this time without Kendal's observations; Morgan was seemingly angry with the Princess over something. He hadn't figured out why, though. While he normally wouldn't be involving himself in camp gossip, having the daughters of his King and the army's leader fighting with each other could have serious negative implications.

"She seems to allot him enough free time to spend with you," Walter said. "I don't think the Princess is out to inconvenience you, Morgan."

"Yeah, sure she isn't," Morgan grumbled. "Sorry to just leave, but Dad's probably already working, and now that I finally have clearance to help him, I want to make sure he doesn't work himself into an early grave. Good day General!"

"Good day, Morgan," Walter said, shaking his head and smiling as she turned and skipped away, entirely too energetic for this early in the morning.

His smile quickly disappeared as he kept walking toward the mess tent. Walter was curious about why Morgan seemed so unpopular with her peers. She was certainly a nice enough girl. Her wyvern was well behaved, so he doubted the creature had gotten out of control and hurt someone. He couldn't ask her, due to her lack of memories, and the future children seemed somewhat put off by his presence, given that he hadn't existed in their timeline, and so he doubted they'd be forthcoming.

He reached the mess tent, still contemplating what could be the problem, when a solution presented itself.

"Thomas," Walter called out. Thomas turned to him curiously. "Might I have a word?"

"Of course, Father," Thomas said politely as he walked over to Walter. "What about? You seem rather serious for this early in the morning."

"It's about your friend, Morgan," Walter responded, and Thomas visibly stiffened up. "Why is everyone so leery of her?"

"That's…complicated," Thomas said, before looking left and right. "Follow me; I'll answer what I can where there aren't so many prying ears." Walter nodded, and followed his son as he began walking away. He led them past the many tents and into the light woods a few minutes away from the camp.

"So, what do you wish to know?" Thomas asked as he finally deemed they were safe from eavesdroppers.

"Kendal and I have noticed that most of the future children are unduly wary of Morgan," Walter stated. "Short of yourself, Noire, and Nah, all of them look at her with distrust. Why?"

"It is…complicated," Thomas said nervously.

"Not as complicated as unit cohesion falling apart in the middle of a battle," Walter rebutted shortly. "Again I ask: why is she so distrusted?"

"You don't understand the situation," Thomas said quietly. "Morgan doesn't remember her past. It's not a past that needs to be remembered, and I would rather leave it buried. If I start bringing it up to those outside of our little circle, dredging it up for the sake of idle curiosity, then…well, our circle wouldn't be the only ones distrustful of Morgan."

"What did she do, Thomas?" Walter pressed.

"Nothing," Thomas said stubbornly, "as far as you're concerned, anyway. Princess Lucina and I have the situation in hand, Father. Whatever Morgan may or may not have done has no bearing on her ability to serve, and should complications arise, I will handle it myself. You've no need to concern yourself with it."

"…Alright, Thomas," Walter sighed. He felt like this could become a serious issue in the future, especially with how Thomas was acting about it, but he was unwilling to push when their relationship was still so fragile. "Thank you for answering what you could."

"I understand your concerns, Father," Thomas replied diplomatically. "It's just that the matter is deeply personal for Morgan, and it wouldn't be right for me to just tell anyone who asks. I assure you, though, if it causes a situation that I feel I cannot handle, you will be the first to know. After all, you're already somewhat aware of the situation, so you would be a logical starting point. I'll see you after breakfast; Prince Glen has been sparring with me, trying to work his hand cannon into his swordsmanship, and we are due for our daily bout."

"Very well," Walter said, a bit relieved that Thomas would at least come to him first if he needed help handling it. "Good day, Thomas."

"Good day, Father," Thomas said cheerily, before walking off. Walter smiled at Thomas' back. It was good to have his son back, even if there was still work to be done.

000

"Hey Dad!" Morgan said cheerily as she burst into her dad's tent. Cherche, Virion, and Say'ri were already there.

"You are late," Say'ri snapped, immediately wiping the grin from Morgan's face. "You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Yeesh, sorry," Morgan grumbled sorely.

"Hey, back off," Robin warned. "This is quite literally her first day of official duty, cut her some slack."

"No," Say'ri responded shortly, causing Robin to frown. "By dallying about, doing whatever she was doing, she has put the rest of us behind, not just herself. It is unbecoming and unprofessional to be so tardy."

"Listen here-" Robin began angrily

"She's right, Dad," Morgan said, cutting him off before a fight could start. "I really shouldn't have been late."

"Maybe not," Robin admitted begrudgingly, "but there's no call for her to be so cross with you."

"Your coddling of your child will only bring her to ruin," Say'ri said pointedly.

"Perhaps we could _not_ start a quarrel zis early in the morning?" Virion suggested lightly over his tea as Robin opened his mouth once more, looking ready to shout this time. "Ze solution here is simple enough, I would suggest ze Dearest of Daughters to our Grandest of Grandmasters should endeavor to be punctual from zis moment henceforth, and perhaps you might not be so severe with her over minor infractions, Lady Han? After all, she is but a teenager, and has no formal military training."

"Fie, you have a point," Say'ri grumbled. "I apologize, Morgan."

"Oh, it's fine," Morgan said as she sat down at the empty chair at the small table, right next to her dad. Say'ri was on her dad's other side. "I mean, you are right, after all. But thanks for sticking up for me, Dad," Morgan said with a wide smile.

Robin's glare at Say'ri finally gave way for a soft smile at Morgan. "Anytime, sweetheart," he said fondly. "Now, take a look at those papers and tell me what your new job is."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, before looking at the reports in front of her. It only took a couple of seconds for her eyes to go wide in shock. "Are… are you serious!?" she shouted in disbelief.

"Very," Robin said with a proud smile. "I cleared it with Chrom this morning; you are the new Tactician of the Shepherds, at least until this bloody war is over and I can give up this Grandmaster business." A flurry of papers accompanied his statement, and soon he was falling backward in his chair, his daughter clamping him in a death-grip hug.

"I can't believe it!" Morgan squealed excitedly as the others chuckled at Robin's predicament. "Thanks Dad! I promise I won't let you down!"

"I know you won't," Robin said as she finally released him for air and he stood up, brushing some dirt and grass off of his coat. "And I know you won't let the Shepherds down either."

"You can all count on me!" Morgan said confidently, before immediately realizing what she was supposed to be doing and bolting back to her chair. "Alright, first order of business…cooking roster!"

"Don't put me, Chrom, or Sully on there," Robin said lightly even as he turned back to his own work.

"Do you so quickly seek to abandon all responsibility?" Say'ri chided, although in a rather light tone compared to what Morgan had heard from her before. "Mercy, I offer assistance but once and you seek to work no more!"

"It is not zat, oh beautiful Lady Han," Virion said lightly, though his debonair smile faded at the glare Say'ri gave him. "It is simply that ze three of zem are terrible cooks, Lady Abel in particular. 'Twould be a better use of our rations to simply throw zem in a river; at least zen we might bait some fish to cook ourselves. If I may make a suggestion, Morgan," Virion said, "replace zem on ze roster with Queen Sumia and my dear Cherche. Zey are chefs beyond compare!"

"Are you okay with that, Cherche?" Morgan asked.

"Of course," Cherche said with a smile, looking up from her paperwork briefly. "Though I was originally hired by milord as a knight, I did learn to cook as a little girl, and I rather enjoy it. And though it borders on boasting, I will say that I have had no complaints."

"And Sumia's always pining for the 'old days'," Robin said dryly. "Back when she could cook for herself, instead of the head chef at the Palace demanding that she get out of the kitchen, saying that it isn't 'queenly' for royalty to be preparing their own meals."

"Alright then," Morgan said. "Queen Sumia and Cherche get extra shifts, and Dad, King Chrom, and Sully get none…actually, I remember Thomas talking about how Kjelle's an awful cook too, so maybe I'll just not put her on there…Now, who else to put on there this week…"

The hours seemed to fly by for Morgan as she did all of the paperwork for the Shepherds. The cooking roster, the armory checklist, the guard rosters (as the Shepherds insisted on posting guards of their own, even with soldiers there to do the job for them), and the myriad of other tasks that she honestly had no idea needed to be done. She was honestly astounded her dad managed to handle all of this alone before, not to mention the stuff for the rest of the Army! Somewhere along the way she absently observed that Cherche was managing the Army's overall logistics, Say'ri was handling troop-relevant work (morale, complaints, discipline, etc.), Virion was handling basic formations for marches and such, and her dad was actually drafting the short and long term plans for where the Army would be heading. More than once she had to stop and shake her head at the fact that her dad tried shouldering all of this alone before; how did he even find time to _breathe_? They had a short break for lunch, and then it was back to "the ol' grind" as her father dryly called it.

"Alright then, I think that's enough for the day," Robin said hours later as he signed his last order with a flourish and dropped the quill carelessly on the table. "I've got tomorrow's marching orders drafted, and a plan of action for our liberation of Castle Virion when we get there. How are the rest of you doing?"

"I need to finish this task," Say'ri said as she continued writing, "but otherwise the rest can wait for the march."

"I _just_ finished ze marching formation," Virion proclaimed proudly. "I do believe that I am finished for ze day."

"There are some more requisition orders to work through," Cherche noted absently as she continued writing, before sighing and setting the quill down. "But I need to speak with some of the commanders regarding them, and since they are all off duty now, it can wait for tomorrow."

"Ugh, why did I volunteer for this?" Morgan moaned, her head placed firmly on the table as she cradled her aching hand. "Everything's done…for now…"

Robin just laughed at his daughter's misery. "I _did_ warn you that this wouldn't be any fun," he teased. "But if all of your work's done, then you're dismissed for-"

Morgan didn't wait for him to finish; he might have forgotten something, after all. With an excited whoop, she was up and gone, a few papers being pulled along in the breeze she left in her wake. She heard her dad's raucous laughter as she fled, but she didn't care- She had to get away before more work was piled on her!

So concerned was she with reaching minimum safe distance that she was as surprised as Glen and Thomas when she bowled into them as they exited the mess tent. The three of them crashed to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and surprised shouts.

"Morgan?" Thomas asked as they finally managed to extricate themselves from one another and stand back up. "What's wrong? You look as if the Devil himself was chasing you!"

"Oh thank the gods!" Morgan cried melodramatically, clutching Thomas in a death-grip hug. She barely came up to his chest due to the difference in height. "Save me, Thomas! Save me from my slave driver of a father! Be my knight in shining armor!" She had to restrain her laughter at Thomas' flustered expression as she let go. Prince Glen had no such reservations, and laughed quite uproariously.

"Your armor _is_ quite lustrous," Glen joked. "How much time do you spend polishing it, again?"

"Too much, clearly," Thomas grumbled as the red began fading from his face. "I take it you had fun today, Morgan?"

"Gods, no," Morgan snorted, and Thomas had his turn to laugh. "It was awful! Don't make fun of me!"

"You _did_ want to help him," Thomas chided, and Morgan rolled her eyes.

"Heh, at least you don't have to help your father run a kingdom," Glen spoke up.

"I think Dad would murder whoever tried to put him in charge of a kingdom," Morgan laughed. "He doesn't even like having as much work as he does."

"Your father was the Duke of Nordenheim in our time," Thomas informed her. "He can at least run a duchy, and quite well, from what I gather. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet him in person, so I'm afraid I can offer little other information."

"Yeah, Nah said he was always working from home," Morgan said. "Never bothered me though, from what I can remember. But your dad's the Duke of Nordenheim now, right?"

"Yes, he is," Thomas nodded. "From what I've gathered, he's done rather well by the Duchy."

"To be frank, Thomas," Glen said lightly, "from what Father told me, I'd expected your father to be some bloodthirsty, maniacal tyrant. Instead he seems more to be…resigned. A bit melancholy, truth be told. But hardly the villain I was told he was, and he seems to want to do good, if last night's little outburst was any indication."

"Yes, well…" Thomas said uncomfortably. "As much wrong as he's done, he's not bloodthirsty or maniacal, and he was never out to destroy the world. He's simply an unmatchable idiot."

"Hey, Thomas," Morgan interrupted. Thomas was getting _that_ look again, that solemn look he got whenever the topic strayed to his father. Morgan was happy to note there was far less anger in it than there usually was, though. "Wanna go flying?"

"What? Now?" Thomas said, before catching onto what Morgan was trying to do and smiling slightly. "Why, yes, that sounds pleasant."

"Ah, young love," Glen sighed, causing both of them to turn cherry red this time, prompting more laughter from him. "I jest, I assure you. But I was going to speak with General Kendal anyway. Good evening, Thomas," Glen said with a polite bow. _Evening?_ _What…oh,_ Morgan thought as she finally noticed the sun was setting. She'd been working that long!?

"To you as well, Prince Glen," Thomas said, returning the bow. Glen then turned and strode off, leaving the two alone. "I swear Phila must be spreading rumors," Thomas said sourly.

"Rumors?" Morgan asked incredulously. "About us? Like…dating?"

"Indeed," Thomas said darkly. "I'll be sure to have a chat with her about that. I swear, a man and woman spend more than five minutes together and the whole camp thinks there's something going on!"

"Well, yeah," Morgan chuckled. "I've actually been hearing more rumors about you and Severa though."

"Severa and I….bwahahahaha!" Thomas laughed, surprising her. "Morgan, Severa would sooner gut me than hold my hand! What nonsense!"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Morgan said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The idea of Severa and Thomas being a "thing" left a bad taste in her mouth, and she didn't really know why. "So, you ready to go flying?"

"Of course, just let me change out of my armor," Thomas said with a nod. "Do try not to give me a heart attack this time, will you?"

"Yeesh, one little barrel roll and suddenly you're a criminal," Morgan joked. The look on Thomas' face had been _priceless_. It was _so_ worth him not talking to her for half a day. "See you in a bit, Thomas!"

"I will see you shortly, Morgan," Thomas responded with a smile, before walking off in the general direction of his tent.

Morgan began walking toward the "stable" (which was really just a section of the tree line where they'd tied off the Shepherds' mounts), smiling happily. She was starting to like it here. Yeah, being with the Shepherds had its problems, like her new workload, or some of the others not seeming to trust her, or the war, or Lucina being a- _pleasant thoughts, Morgan_ -, but overall it was great. She got to spend time with her dad, she was surrounded by great people, and she had really good friends like Thomas and Cherche (who often went out of her way to be nice to her).

 _A girl couldn't ask for much more,_ Morgan thought happily.

 **AN:**

 **More fluff.**

 **Points if you can figure out what I'm doing with Chon'sin's political structure in this fic.**


	87. Chapter 87

**Chapter 87**

 **Toujours De L'Avant**

Robin cleared his throat to quiet down the idle chatter that had consumed most members of the war council. They had reached the hill overlooking Castle Virion the third day after their landing, after a rather uneventful two-day march across the gorgeous, verdant fields of Rosanne. The Valmese garrison had pulled all of its troops back to the castle to await reinforcements following their discovery of the fall of Valm Harbor, likely why they faced no resistance on the road. The Army had simply encircled the city and set in for a siege while Robin had dispatched a few spies, namely the Dark Elf Yenicheris, to scout out the situation in the Castle. While the villagers they'd happened across had cheered their liberators, Robin knew full well just how dramatically public perception could shift when directly beneath the seat of a foreign occupier, and he wanted to get an idea of what was happening inside of those walls before he finalized one of the several plans he'd been working on.

"Alright, let's call this meeting to order," he stated in his most formal tone. "Let's start off with Queen Ilfa. What do your Yenicheris have to report?"

"They have identified several methods of infiltrating the city," Ilfa began. "As you requested, they have also attempted to gauge the general attitude of the populace. While they are not openly defiant of the military governor, they are not very accepting of him either. There are also rumors of some important dignitary from the Valmese government having been dispatched a few months ago, but our soldiers were unable to glean any significant information regarding their identity or purpose. Only that their presence was extremely unpopular."

"What do we know of the military governor?" Walter spoke up.

To everyone's surprise, it was Cherche who answered. "The military governor's name is General Eduard Cervantes," she stated. "He is one of Walhart's most ardent and loyal supporters, and was given governorship of the country once our Army was shattered." Her face hardened briefly, but returned to a stoic visage before Robin could comment. "He is almost cripplingly conventional in his strategies, favoring defensive postures. He is not particularly adaptable, but has an uncanny level of foresight that his jovial, carefree temperament belies. He is particularly fond of the use of heavily armored foot soldiers with Pegasus Knight and ranged support, as opposed to the cavalry-heavy tactics of the mainline Valmese Army. Unfortunately, his preferred troop composition leaves him at an advantage when resisting a siege. He has undoubtedly stockpiled many supplies in anticipation of such an event; he needs simply to hold out until reinforcements arrive."

"Why did we dispatch the Yenicheris, again?" Cirith asked with dry amusement.

"I did not mean to steal your thunder," Cherche giggled. "But I thought my knowledge was pertinent, and so I offered it."

"It's appreciated Cherche, thank you," Robin said with a smile, before turning back to the group. "So, we have a super-conventional defensive specialist, a populace that's at least docile if not welcoming of the Valmese, and a timetable of maybe a week or two until reinforcements arrive. I'm open to suggestions."

"Why do we not stick to the original plan?" Lucina suggested. "To bombard the gate with mortars from beyond arrow range? It still seems to be a solid enough plan."

"That was working on outdated information," Robin informed her. "According to Cherche and Virion, there were no siege weapons present in Castle Virion when they were last there. However, our observers reported a number of catapults mounted on the walls now. Something called a 'trebuchet'?" he said, turning to Virion.

"Ah, yes," he said in a droll tone, "ze bane of my existence. Far superior to traditional catapults and ideal as defensive fortifications. Naught but our cannons could seek to match zem in range or accuracy."

"Then let's go get the cannons," Basilio said with a shrug. "We left General Sedgar with plenty of 'em."

"That's because General Sedgar and the First Division are attempting to hold Valm Harbor and the outlying villages, in case we need to withdraw," Walter countered. "The cannons are critical to the defenses there, and they can't afford to lose them, even temporarily."

"What's more, there's little point in taking a castle when the walls have been reduced to rubble," Morene stated. "We require the defenses intact. Not necessarily the catapults, but the walls themselves must remain undamaged."

"Maybe we can incite a rebellion?" Morgan suggested, blushing slightly as the attention of the council was pulled to her. "I mean, there's only so much the Yenicheris can gather without speaking to the people directly, and they couldn't do that without giving themselves away. If they're observably discontent with the Valmese, however mild it appears, there's a good chance that they actually hate them more than they're letting on. I mean, Walhart's not exactly known for being lenient with discontent, so people would go out of their way to hide it, right? Which would mean any discontent there _is_ would be hidden where casual observers couldn't see it. Could we use that?"

"Perhaps," Walter stated, "but we are here to save these people, not use them as a shield," he said sternly, causing Morgan to wince a bit at the hardness of his voice. She'd heard from her dad about Walter's outburst the other night, and didn't want to invite a repeat performance.

"I hesitate to resort to such measures," Virion spoke up uneasily. "My people have suffered enough; must we truly force zem into battle once more? In zeir own homes, no less?"

"Nobody's necessarily forcing anyone into anything, Virion," Robin reassured him. He also noticed Walter relax a bit. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the Valm Harbor war council. "Not yet, at any rate. I can't honestly say I'm discounting the option, but Walter was right before when he said we need to minimize civilian casualties when we can. But we need more information before we can act."

"What, are the Yenicheris not enough for you?" Morene drawled, though her lip quirked upwards ever so slightly to show that she wasn't holding it against him.

"Like Morgan pointed out, they can't actually speak to the citizenry," Robin answered. "And Say'ri's own infiltrations specialists, these 'Dread Fighters' I've heard so much about, are quite obviously foreign and would stick out among the locals. But a few Ylisseans, like the Shepherds… well, we can pass for Rosannean. Or at least Northern Valmese."

"Gregor especially," Chrom mused. "He mentioned once that his parents were born in Valm."

"I'll leave the troop composition for the mission up to Morgan," Robin said. Morgan paled at the idea. Robin knew she was afraid of messing up with her newfound authority, but he knew she could do the job. "I'm going personally, and I can't imagine that Chrom will do anything less than be right in the thick of it with me," the assembled leaders chuckled quietly as Chrom clapped his hand on his shoulder in solidarity. "Other than that, though, I will leave it up to her. In the meantime, Walter, what options do we have from outside of the city?"

"We could attempt to close into mortar range and disable their catapults with targeted fire," Walter responded. "However, the counter fire will assuredly cost us more than a few of our mortars. Until the first half of the Hironeiden Army arrives, I do not believe we can afford to lose the relatively scarce mortar squads we have, particularly since they will be our primary defense along the wall once we've taken the city. Other than that, I believe we can do little else but attack what targets of opportunity present themselves. Our scouts have reported few, however; this General Cervantes has trained his men well."

"Do what you can," Robin said with a nod. "The more distractions the Valmese have, the less likely they are to notice us. Does anybody else have any other suggestions?"

"Not a suggestion, but a warning," Cirith spoke up. Robin gestured for her to continue. "There's something…wrong with this," she stated. Robin raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I was on the scouting mission, as you know. I can't point to any one specific thing, but there is something off in the Castle. The most obvious sign is that the Valmese soldiers are on edge."

"That's not surprising, there's an army that outnumbers them two to one on their doorstep," Basilio said dismissively.

"If that was the case, then the relatively inexperienced soldiers manning the wall would be nervous as well. But they are not," Cirith said pointedly. "This…feeling was present only within the Castle itself, among General Cervantes' personal guard."

"I thought I said to avoid the Castle for now," Robin said with a frown. "We don't want to tip them off to the fact that we've found ways into the city."

"I went alone," Cirith explained. "I noticed some of the guards closer to the palace acting far too nervous, and I felt the need to investigate. The tension in the air only increased as I went further. After hearing the guards talking about an 'Inquisitor', I felt that I heard enough and left."

"Could that be the dignitary your Queen mentioned?" Robin asked.

"Most likely," Cirith replied with a nod. "But the way they spoke of her…the Valmese are afraid of her."

"That is unsettling," Say'ri spoke up. "Anything that has an Imperial Honor Guard ill at ease is not something to scoff at."

"I'll keep that in mind," Robin said contemplatively. _Why would the Valmese be afraid of their own officers? They're harsh, certainly, and every army has bad officers, but from the sounds of it, it has more to do with their character than their command practices._ "Regardless, the mission proceeds as planned. Are there any other suggestions?"

"If we're infiltrating the city, why don't we do more than just observe?" General Holzheim suggested. "Sabotage some key fortifications like their catapults if we can, target high ranking officers for assassination, maybe seize the gatehouse so we don't have to try to repair the gate after blowing it apart."

"A great idea, General," Robin said with a smile. He was a little surprised General Holzheim, of all people, would be the one to suggest such underhanded tactics, but he wouldn't argue it. It was a good idea. "Speak to Morgan after the meeting; she can work your ideas into the plan." Holzheim nodded in response. "Alright, anything else?" Robin waited a few seconds, but nobody spoke up. "Alright then, we'll meet up after dinner, and see what Morgan has come up with for a plan. Until then, dismissed." Robin frowned as Virion almost immediately bolted for the entrance, disappearing in a flash of silver.

"Dad, I-" Morgan began, but immediately stopped talking when Robin raised his hand up, frowning at where Virion had so suddenly disappeared. "What's wrong? Did I do something wrong already!?"

"I know you're concerned about being put in charge of the mission, and I'm more than happy to help you with it, but something's up with Virion," Robin said quietly, not wanting to draw the attentions of the other Shepherds. He saw Cherche looking around in confusion, probably wondering where her lord had bolted off to. "Let me just speak to him first, then I'll come find you, okay sweetheart?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Morgan said understandingly. "Uncle Virion's never just bolted like that before, and I was thinking about putting him on the mission, so it's good that you want to sort that out."

"'Uncle Virion?'" Robin asked in amusement, and Morgan nodded with a happy smile. "Where'd that come from?"

"Well, you told me once that he was like a brother to you," Morgan explained, "and the brother of one's father is called an 'uncle', so Virion is now Uncle Virion," she said proudly. "Plus, maybe if I start calling him that you won't have to have Dean eat him for flirting with me. It's a bit gross when he does that, but he's actually a really nice guy beneath all the grossness and I'd feel bad if he got munched on my account."

Robin laughed at that. "He got the message, he hasn't flirted with you since the ship," Robin chortled. "But…yeah, that sounds about right. He really is like a brother to me. Would that make Cherche your aunt?"

Morgan just laughed at that, so long that Robin turned red. "What?" he asked sheepishly.

"Oh gods, Aunt Cordelia was right," Morgan chuckled. "You really are hopeless."

Robin turned even more red. "Now, there's no need to be so disrespectful with your old man!" Robin said indignantly, though the corners of his lips twitched upward.

"Someone has to keep you humble," Morgan responded cheekily. "Go talk to Uncle Virion, Dad. General Holzheim's standing there patiently, and we have a mission to plan." Robin turned around to see General Holzheim at a respectable distance, crossing his log-sized arms and tapping his foot impatiently. He sheepishly waved him over, and hugged Morgan and kissed her on the head, before going to find Virion.

It didn't take long; Virion had simply moved to the edge of the Shepherds camp, and he was gazing out across their army toward Castle Virion.

"A copper for your thoughts?" Robin asked lightly as he stepped up alongside him.

"Are zey really worth so little to you?" Virion said in a tone that tried to be light, but came across as strained.

"They're actually worth a few hundred crowns, but since I'm still repaying Lissa for that awful bet I'm pretty much always broke," Robin chuckled. Virion didn't return it. "Seriously, Virion, what's wrong?"

"I am…afraid, my friend," Virion admitted quietly.

"What's this?" Robin asked dramatically. "The Archest of Archers, he who strides large across history's greatest stage, feeling mere mortal emotions such as fear!?"

Virion laughed as Robin had hoped, but it sounded more bitter than anything. "You jape, and I appreciate ze attempt to lighten ze mood, my friend," Virion said with a strained smile, "But yes, I am afraid. And truly, what isn't zere for me to be afraid of?" he whispered bitterly. "I fear ze Conqueror, as any sane man should. I fear ze Orcs and zeir dark Lord, he who inspires fear in men and women who have survived ze near end of zeir world. But most of all…I fear my own people," Virion admitted dejectedly. "I abandoned zem to ze Conqueror, in fear of my own life. After ze first engagement along our borders, where nearly all of my forces were destroyed holding ze line, I grew craven. I hastily left my people to zeir fate, leaving dear Cherche behind to convince myself I had not abandoned zem," he said, before running a hand down his face. "'Twas but a ruse, and everyone knows it. But Cherche defied all expectations, and held out for so long," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "She did what I could not. I would have led us to ruin, but she expertly stalled ze Conqueror's army. If not for Regnier breaking ze stalemate with Chon'sin and allowing ze Conqueror to turn his fury fully against one of ze few remaining bastions of liberty in ze North, we might merely be regrouping with her now, instead of trying to liberate my people." He then gestured with his hand widely, across the Ylissean Army camped in front of them. "And here we find ourselves," Virion said dryly. "Instead of fighting and dying alongside my people, I abandoned zem, only to return with an army to bring ze war to zeir very homes. Did you know that Cherche did not fight her last battle in ze capital?" Virion asked suddenly. Robin shook his head. "No, she made her stand here, in zese very fields, instead of taking refuge within ze walls."

"What? Why?" Robin asked, confused. He'd been delighted to find out that Cherche knew quite a bit about strategy, and they'd talked about it at length before. She was far too experienced to make what appeared to be a foolish mistake based on pride.

"Because she did not want ze fighting to carry into ze city," Virion explained. "Castle Virion is one of three proper cities in ze entire country. Ze rest are simple farms and villages, and ze war mostly occurred in ze countryside around zem. But when ze Valmese threatened Castle Virion itself, Cherche opted to meet zem in battle outside of ze walls, despite being outnumbered four to one. Had she stayed within the walls, she might have won, but ze city would have been ruined. Despite ze risk of failure, and despite ze risk to her own life, she valiantly marched forward to meet Cervantes in open battle." Virion then turned and gestured back towards the camp. "And she is not ze only one to be so selfless. I am surrounded by zose who have sacrificed all for ze sake of zeir people. When compared to zem…well I just simply do not compare," he admitted bitterly. "I am craven, and left my people to zeir fates to save my own hide. And now, when finally I find a spine, I can do naught but bring ze war to ze people Cherche nearly died trying to spare. What proper noble does zat?" he asked angrily. "I do not deserve ze love of my people. I do not even deserve zeir respect or obedience. I am surrounded by ze _crème de la creme,_ yet I am not worthy to shine zeir armor. And do not deny zis, my friend," Virion said as Robin opened his mouth. "I know you care greatly for me, but you cannot deny simple fact. I am craven. Worthless. A failure to my people," he finished dejectedly, falling down to the grass on his rear and cradling his face in his hands, bracing his arms on his knees.

"I wasn't going to deny your mistakes," Robin said as gently as he could, kneeling down next to him. "But did you learn nothing back in Valm Harbor?" Virion just made a noncommittal grunt.. "Look at what happened at that war council!" Robin told him. "You and Cherche tell me over and over how much of a good, just, noble man I am, but I was more than willing to grind the Valmese people into the dirt because they were the 'enemy'. And who speaks up against me?" Robin said with a wry laugh. "The one man in that tent who is publicly judged as a war criminal and a traitor. Do you know what I learned from that?"

"Zat irony is only amusing when it does not happen to you?" Virion said dryly, moving his face from his hands.

"No…well, yes," Robin said with a small laugh, "but that's not what I'm getting at. What I learned is that you are never too high to fall down, and you are never too low that you can't get back up. Yeah, you made mistakes," Robin said, his voice filled with determination, "but getting down on yourself isn't going to fix them. You're just going to have to get down there and do it," Robin said, pointing at the city in the distance. "And Cherche and I are going to be there every step of the way to keep you on the straight and narrow. We all are. Hells, do you know what Morgan just called you?" Virion shook his head. "She called you 'Uncle Virion'." Virion's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're not an awful person, Virion, you've just made mistakes. You're down, but not out, and each and every one of us are here to help you back up… but only if you want to. You getting back up or not?" he said, holding his hand out to him.

Virion hesitated for a moment, but eventually grabbed Robin's hand and was pulled to his feet. "I am back in ze saddle," Virion said with a grin, which Robin matched. "I swear, with Naga and you as witness, zat I shall dedicate ze rest of my life to ze people of Rosanne! I shall not falter, moving ever forward in ze pursuit of my peoples' happiness!"

"That's the spirit," Robin said with a wide grin. "Now, come on, we've got a country to liberate."

000

The Imperial Honor Guards stiffened as the Inquisitor stormed past them. She didn't care; let the inferior scum fear her, as they rightfully should. She burst into Castle Virion's conference room, startling most of the junior officers present with her loud entrance.

"The Yenicheris managed to escape your grasp," the Inquisitor growled. "Are these Honor Guards of yours truly so incompetent that they cannot even grasp basic tracking!?"

"They are warriors, Inquisitor, not spies," General Cervantes said lightly. She seethed at his flippant behavior; at least most of his men were sensible enough to fear a superior being such as her, but this insipid little _ape_ didn't even appear marginally concerned with what she could do to him.

"If I give your idiot soldiers a task, I expect it to be completed," the Inquisitor hissed. "Master Leinhart will be most displeased with this turn of events."

"Well, he didn't seem that way to me when I talked to him several minutes ago and informed him of the Yenicheris' escape," Cervantes said with a shrug. The Inquisitor had to stop herself from leaping over the table and strangling him. "Fear not, Inquisitor, and let them try their hand at whatever plot they have concocted: we will teach them the meaning of fear!"

The Inquisitor, however, had difficulty understanding the man due to the small animal that had parked itself over his mouth. "The meaning of 'beard'?" she asked incredulously. "Are you entirely bereft of intelligence!? Are you that fixated on your damnable facial hair!?"

"No no, my dear Inquisitor," Cervantes chortled. "FEAR, not BEARD." The Inquisitor let out a groan of frustration. She almost missed her old adjutants; even they were more tolerable than this simpleton! "…Though, they are rather magnificent aren't they? My whiskers?" he said fondly, stroking his bushy mustache happily. The Inquisitor considered impaling herself on her sword then and there. How had she displeased Master Leinhart to be paired with this complete idiot!? "I have not shaved since my first battle, you know," Cervantes told her. Ice magic flared around her hands in rage, but she managed to contain the violent outburst she so dearly longed to let loose against him. Master Leinhart had said he was necessary, and so he wasn't to be harmed. _But what could possibly make this oaf necessary!?_ "And have I lost yet? No! What does that tell you?"

"That you are a complete simpleton incapable of proper personal hygiene?" The Inquisitor suggested acidly.

"No, it means that my mustache makes me invincible! It's science, my dear!" Cervantes cheerily proclaimed. The Inquisitor screamed in rage, and the junior officers scrambled for cover as she cast a fire spell at the desk, lighting several reports on fire. Cervantes was unperturbed.

"You're lucky Master Leinhart ordered me to leave you unharmed," the Inquisitor snarled. "Or I swear on the Earth Mother Gaia I would-"

"General Cervantes!" a soldier said as he burst into the room behind the Inquisitor. She turned a furious glare at him, and he immediately wilted beneath it.

"What is it, my boy?" General Cervantes prodded, pulling the Inquisitor's attention away.

"Our observers reported that several notable members of the Ylissean special operations detachment are no longer visible within their camp," the soldier said, grateful for Cervantes' intervention. "The observers believe they're making their move."

"Ah, good," General Cervantes said, startling the soldier.

"S-sir?" the soldier asked. "W-why would the enemy moving to attack be a good thing?"

"Why, because they'll do our job for us," Cervantes chortled. "We've tried our damnedest to ferret out those rebel scum in the city, but they evade even our famous Inquisitor here." The Inquisitor scoffed. _Pure luck_ , she thought heatedly. "They'll surely come crawling out of the woodwork once the Ylisseans infiltrate the city, and we can put them down for good and all! What's more, our gracious ally Lord Regnier is dispatching reinforcements; even should they, by some miracle, defeat us and take the castle, they will not hold it for long. Soon, these rebel scum will know the meaning of fear!"

"Uh…the meaning of 'beard', sir?" The messenger asked uncertainly.

"FEAR!" Cervantes yelled, finally showing something other than the jovial halfwit that the Inquisitor was used to. She took delight in his exasperation. "Am I surrounded by the deaf!?"

"Aww, what's the matter, General?" the Inquisitor cooed. "Perhaps if you shaved that rat off of your face, you wouldn't be so hard to understand."

"And sacrifice my invincibility?" Cervantes countered incredulously, causing the Inquisitor to facepalm. "Good nonexistent heavens, no! But, debates over the glory of my beautiful mustache can be shelved for now," Cervantes said, his tone finally becoming something resembling serious. "We have a city to defend, and insurgents to stamp out! I'm assuming you want to handle the latter personally, dear Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor's mouth curled into a vicious smile, her brilliant white teeth contrasting greatly with her unnaturally dark skin. "Of course," she said sweetly. "Cirith or Morene will certainly be among the infiltrators. I would just _love_ to see them again."

"I am sure you would," Cervantes chuckled. "Leave my Honor Guards here this time, take some of the regular line soldiers. While not _quite_ as skilled, they are certainly capable. I trained them myself.

"Yes, I'm certain they're near your level of competence," the Inquisitor deadpanned. Cervantes preened, apparently not seeing the obvious insult. "I won't need many, however; just enough to tie the Ylisseans up long enough for _me_ to deal with them." She giggled, sounding slightly unhinged to the casual observer, and strode out of the room.

Cervantes could only smile. _I better start organizing the troops,_ he thought happily. _After all, this city won't defend itself._

 **AN:**

 **So, since Urukubarr is camping at the Mila Tree and there is no POSSIBLE way I'm leaving out the best character in the Valm Arc, Cervantes is the military governor of Rosanne.**

 **Who is the Inquisitor? Why does she have an axe to grind with Morene and Cirith? How did Cervantes grow such a beautiful mustache? Why am I hamfisting suspense into this AN? YOU'LL FIND OUT WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER!**


	88. Chapter 88

**Chapter 88**

 **Vive La Résistance**

"What do you think?" Chrom asked nervously under his breath as the citizens around them milled about nervously in the extremely crowded market square in the early hours of darkness. Robin absently noted that Virion's tales of Rosannean beauty may have been greatly exaggerated. Or it explained why he was initially so infatuated with Sully; the women here were quite frankly more masculine than he was. He doubted Cherche was really from here, at this point. His party was dressed as inconspicuously as they could be beneath heavy cloaks, much like they had been at Castle Plegia. Nobody had recognized them yet. Robin, Chrom, Morene, Cherche, and Lucina had been assigned to the first team in Morgan's plan. Their job was to make contact with whatever resistance might exist within the walls of the city, see how many of them there were, and discern if they were up for insurrection. Frederick was commanding the second team: their job was to cause a disturbance on the opposite end of the city once somebody shot up a red signal flare, to pull the heat off of whatever team shot up the flare. With him were Kjelle, Sully, Donnel, Severa, Vaike, Nowi, and Nah; all of the loudest, most attention-grabbing Shepherds available. The third team was led by Panne, and consisted of Yarne, Laurent, Gaius, Tharja, Noire, Miriel, Cirith, and Lon'qu. Their job was to move fast, strike hard, and disable the trebuchets on the wall. The fourth team was led by Virion and consisted of the other ground-bound Shepherds, and their job was to seize the gatehouse. Morgan was leading the fifth team, and it consisted of all of their fliers; they would immediately move to assist whoever shot up a signal flare. Nachmir had also deployed Yenicheri soldiers into the city with very vague orders to "cause problems" for the Valmese once the fighting started. Robin could only hope that they wouldn't cause trouble for the townsfolk who wanted to stay out of the fighting instead… Once all teams had succeeded with their objectives, or failed, they would either escape the city or, more preferably, go for the overall objective: eliminate or otherwise depose General Cervantes. Robin couldn't help but feel proud of how comprehensive Morgan's plans were when she'd relayed them to the unit leaders; she was going to be far better than him some day, and he couldn't wait to see it.

"I think they know we're here," Robin said grimly.

"There is no doubt about it," Morene said just as grimly. "There is no reason they would call the peasants into a large, open, tactically disadvantageous area for a 'special announcement'. It would be far easier to just dispatch runners to relay it to all households. They're trying to lure us out. Cherche and Lucina had better hurry back with results."

"They'll be back," Chrom stated quietly. "Everything will go fine, guys. We're going to liberate this city."

"Hush, boy," a middle aged, muscle bound, red haired, bushy-bearded, black cloaked man to his right snapped just as quietly. Apparently Chrom hadn't been quiet enough, though; several of the people around them turned to give dirty looks, and Robin got uneasy. _This is way too much attention, and we've barely been in the city twenty minutes_. "If you're with those Resistance buggers, at least keep your damn mouth shut about it! The rest of us don't need your damned trouble today."

"Er…sorry…" Chrom said sheepishly. The man rolled his eyes and turned back forward. "What is your name, friend?"

"Gerard," the man grunted. "It's a pity you're gonna die today, boy," he said sadly.

Robin and Morene bristled at that, even as Chrom stepped away. "I'm not sure I like where you're going with this," Chrom said slowly.

"Oh, relax," the man chuckled. Morene and Robin didn't, but Chrom eased up. "Didn't mean it like that. You young idiots are all the same though. The second things go south here, and they will go south, you're going to just rush headlong at the Inquisitor and get yourself killed."

"Who is this 'Inquisitor'?" Chrom asked. They'd heard muttered rumors about the woman's abject cruelty to suspected resistance fighters. She was another priority target.

"Some whorish devil-woman that that swine-leading bastard who brutalized Chon'sin brought with her," Gerard grunted. _A subordinate of_ _Regnier? That's trouble,_ Robin thought worriedly. "Beats me who she is, or where she came from. All I know is people go missing when they start getting big ideas. So keep your damn trap shut before we all get 'disappeared'."

"Right, sorry," Chrom said sheepishly. The conversation ceased as a commotion took place at the other end of the square, and Robin could see red armor. The Valmese were here, to say whatever they pulled everyone here to say. They marched in formation around someone; Robin could see nothing but a few strands of white hair, and stopped on top of the podium in the center of the market square.

"Hmph, looks like you'll get to see the Inquisitor personally," Gerard said, sounding rather angry. _He must know someone who's been 'disappeared',_ Robin realized sadly. _But no more._ He heard Morene outright growl like an animal, a sound that pulled strange looks from the people around her. Robin turned to see her snarling, baring her pointed teeth at the Valmese.

"What is it?" Robin asked lowly.

"That _stench_ ," Morene snarled. "I've smelled it before."

"Good day, filthy humans!" A voice proclaimed tauntingly. Robin turned his attention forward, and his mouth dropped open in shock. There was a _Dark Elf_ standing on the podium. She wore even less than Morene. Hell, he'd seen more modestly dressed women at their final stop on the Night That Never Happened. Other than the red shoulder pauldrons and the back half of a skirt that she wore, her obsidian skin was bared for all to see. Her hair, which practically reached her knees, was tied up in a long ponytail, and she was practically _covered_ in scars. Robin could scarcely find more than a two square inch area that didn't have a burn or cutting scar. Whatever she'd been through, Robin shuddered at the thought of it. A pair of scimitars hung at her waist, and her deep blue eyes scanned the crowd in a cold, calculating manner. "Yes, it is I, your loving and benevolent High Elf Inquisitor, Lucretia!" Robin remembered that name; it was the name of the Kaedes leader after Rithrin, the one who'd provoked Regnier into waging genocide on the Dark Elves. _She survived!? And she's working with Regnier!?_ "I know it has been _sooo_ long since I've graced you filthy ingrates with my presence," she continued in a sickly sweet tone, "but today is a special occasion! Our Ylissean invaders have seen fit to provide us with a gift!" To Robin's horror, the Valmese guards flanking her parted and pulled three captives forward: a little girl, who looked like she had been severely beaten, and Cherche and Lucina, who looked no better off. "Look who we found roaming the streets!" she called, sounding more like a child who received an early birthday present than anything else. "Your former tyrant's whore, and the invaders' little princess!" The crowd was deathly silent, except for Chrom, who was being subtly restrained by Morene's red chains. One had even clamped over his mouth, so he couldn't draw attention to them by shouting. Lucretia continued scanning the crowd, even as her captives were forced to their knees behind her. "And who would find them, but this sweet, _innocent_ little girl?" Lucretia stated, gesturing to the child behind her. Robin cursed under his breath. This was bad. "Now, as we all know," she giggled, "loyalty to the Valmese Empire is so _greatly_ appreciated. And this beautiful little child did us a great service by dutifully bringing them to the attention of the local guards." Robin severely doubted that was at all what happened, given how badly beaten the girl was. "Now, we would not be benevolent rulers if we refused to reward her, would we?" Lucretia asked. Chrom struggled against his bindings. Robin was too horrified by what Lucretia was clearly implying to move. _Even with her reputation, she wouldn't…_ "I think I'll teach her some magic!" Lucretia cried in delight. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

She bent down to the little girl, who was sobbing in terror at this point. "Now, now, sweetheart," Lucretia crooned. "I won't bite, I promise. You like magic, yes? You're the child of that alchemist, after all, I know you must have _some_ tomes laying around…answer me!" Lucretia snarled, dropping her act briefly as she seized the child's blonde hair and shook her head by it. The girl sobbed harder, but nodded. "Ah, I knew it!" Lucretia said with a sickening grin. "What magic interests you the most, hmm?" She asked. "Fire, lightning, and wind are popular in this world, yes?" the girl nodded again, trembling in terror. "I could easily teach you one of them. Or perhaps you would like to learn ice magic?" Lucretia asked, briefly conjuring a spike of ice. Despite the child's terror, she couldn't help but be awed by magic she had never seen before. "I also know the magic of the earth," she added, using a small spell to pull a vine from the earth. Robin felt ill. He knew what earth magic could do. Judging by the crowd, most of them did too at this point. To his immense relief, the vine simply retracted instead of releasing its corrosive payload. The child didn't know any better, however, and stared at the hole it had disappeared to in great interest, her terror almost completely forgotten. "I also know some dark magic, but…well, that is not for children," Lucretia said teasingly. "Which would you like to learn, little girl?"

"T-that ice magic looked kinda cool, Miss Inquisitor," the girl said timidly. Robin's mind screamed at him to stop Lucretia, but he was too paralyzed to move.

"Oooh, and oh so polite too!" Lucretia practically squealed with delight. "You know," she stage whispered conspiratorially to her, "you're so much more pleasant than these boorish Valmese. I like you."

"T-thank you very much, Miss Inquisitor," the girl said shyly, smiling hopefully up at her. Robin only felt more ill, however; he knew nothing good would come of this.

"Now, hold out your hands, and I'll guide you through casting the spell," Lucretia said gently, though with a sadistic edge to it.

 _That's enough,_ Robin thought mentally. Even as he went to move forward, however, he found himself wrapped in red chains as Chrom still was. He turned to Morene furiously.

"What are you doing?" he hissed as quietly as he could. "We can't just let this happen!"

"Look up, ape," Morene said, sounding almost bored. Robin paled. On the rooftops were Valmese mages and archers, arms outstretched and bows drawn toward the crowd. "The second someone acts out, this entire square becomes a free fire zone. I know the tactic well; we used it in Vellond to root out Kaedes members. It is no surprise that Lucretia would use it."

Robin cursed. "Is there nothing we can do?" Robin asked piteously.

"You can steel your resolve, tactician," Morene said quietly. There was even a hint of sadness in it. "This is not the worst you will see in this war."

"Now, follow my instruction," Lucretia said, before guiding her through the basics of spellcraft, conjuring her own icy mist around her hands as an example. The girl failed, however, to conjure anything; she must not have had any magical potential. Lucretia smirked, and Robin suspected that she knew the girl had no innate talent. "No, no, child," Lucretia, said comfortingly, before her voice turned hard. "Like this." She then seized the little girl's hands, never ceasing her ice spell. Almost immediately, the girl's hands started becoming encased in ice. Robin knew exactly how bitingly, painfully, destructively frigid ice magic was, and a tear ran down his cheek as the girl began screaming. Lucina and Cherche both immediately tried to lunge forward, but were quickly and brutally forced to the ground by their captors. "Oh, what is wrong, child?" Lucretia asked in a sickeningly innocent voice, barely audible over the child's screaming. "Are you having trouble controlling the spell?"

"Let me go, Morene," Robin hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to watch the girl's torture. No matter how much he squeezed his eyes, though, he couldn't block out the screams. "Dammit, I don't care about the ambush, I can't let this happen!" Chrom was positively writhing around in his bonds, managing to draw the attention of some of the Valmese on the rooftops despite Morene's attempts to hold him still.

"This is your last dance!" a man snarled before Morene could respond to Robin's demand. One of Lucretia's own guards, a standard swordsman from the looks of it, ripped his face-concealing helmet off and drew his sword with a flourish. Lucretia barely managed to roll out of the way of the young man's strike, but was on her feet in an instant, swords drawn and eyes narrowed at the interloper.

"Who the hell are you?" Lucretia snarled. "Do you have a death wish?" she asked, even as most of the other guards began encircling the two.

"Who am I?" the young man asked, running his free hand through his strawberry blonde hair. "Why, I am Inigo Montoya, mercenary and dashing rogue," he said with a confident smile. _Huh. Libra's family name is Montoya,_ Robin absently noted.Morene's chains released him. He was too stupefied by the turn of events to act immediately though.

"You're outnumbered thirty to one," Lucretia spat. "Surrender and I'll only torture you for three days before killing you, instead of a week."

"While normally I would give a witty response coupled with an invitation to tea," Inigo responded calmly, "I don't think you're really my type. Gentlemen?" he asked loudly.

"Vive la Résistance!" came the sudden cry from the crowd. The _entire_ crowd. Even most the guards surrounding Inigo and Lucretia, except the ones holding Lucina and Cherche. Before Robin or Chrom or even Morene could react, every single person around them drew weapons. Small crossbows, tomes, shortswords, hand axes, anything that could be concealed. Robin noted with mild embarrassment that all of the "women" in the crowd were just disguised men. _Now I know how Virion felt with Libra._

"Vive la liberté!" Inigo cried, before lunging at Lucretia, the rest of the fake guards following suit. This act was the spark that ignited the powder keg; the entire square immediately dissolved into pandemonium, and spells, arrows, and throwing weapons flew in every direction. Valmese troops began pouring into the square at the commotion.

"Chrom, get the girl and our friends!" Robin immediately shouted, drawing his Levin Sword and casting a Thoron spell at the nearest Valmese soldier. The archer clutched the sizzling hole in his chest briefly before he fell limp to the roof, sliding gradually off its sloped surface.

"Right!" Chrom shouted, before charging into the crowd.

"Morene!" Robin shouted. "Go say hi to your old friend!"

"With pleasure," Morene snarled with a sadistic smile, before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

"You, boy!" a voice barked. He turned to see Gerard storming over to him, having cast aside his cloak, revealing the iron plates and chainmail beneath it. He held a longsword in one hand and an axe in the other. "You in charge of those people?" he asked, pointing his sword to where Chrom had carved his way onto the stage, and was now fighting alongside his daughter and Cherche, the three of them standing around the little girl, who was sobbing and cradling her hands.

"Yeah, more or less!" Robin shouted over the battle, before pulling the flare out of his pocket and firing into the air. _Hopefully the others have made it to their positions,_ Robin prayed as the flare ignited at its peak, a bright red light shining down on them now. "I take it you're the local Resistance leader?"

"Yep," Gerard said shortly. "I'm no tactician though; I'm just an old merc! Tell me what you want us to do!"

As Robin began belting orders out to the Resistance fighters, trying to bring some sense of order to the chaos, Morene reappeared on the podium. As she predicted, Lucretia had already slain most of the disguised Resistance fighters, and had the loud boy on the back foot; he had no chance. Especially with his foolish, flashy little dance steps between every other move. She took pity on the boy and decided to intervene.

"Hello Lucy," Morene said with false warmness, before shooting one of her bone spikes at the woman's back at the end of her magical chains. Lucretia reacted swiftly and dived out of the way. She stood and spun, glaring at Morene in loathing. Morene retracted her chain and stood across from her, glaring just as hatefully back at her.

"I knew I smelled you," Lucretia growled. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Half-Leech?"

"Nearly a decade, if I recall," Morene said lightly, even as the two began circling each other. Inigo was a bit put off at being completely forgotten. "I have a bone to pick with you," Morene said, pointing one of her bone spikes at Lucretia.

Lucretia simply laughed in disdain. "A whole decade, and _that_ is the best line you come up with?" Lucretia spat. "You're getting senile in your old age."

"H-hey!" Inigo said indignantly. Morene briefly glanced at him and he leveled his sword at her. "It's rude to cut in!"

"Go away, ape," Lucretia and Morene said simultaneously, turning and narrowing their eyes at each other. "I hate you," they each said. Then they each snarled. Then they each shrieked in frustration.

"Enough!" Lucretia shouted. "Let's get this over with, whore!" she snapped as she brandished her swords.

"Now you can all appreciate a vampire's bloodlust!" Morene shouted, before lunging forward at her opponent. Even if Inigo wanted to interfere, which he wasn't entirely sure he should at this point, they were each moving _far_ too fast, even for him; they were practically blurs as they sped and spun about, and the acrobatics they each exhibited as they dueled each other certainly didn't help matters, leaping around combatants or market stalls, bouncing off combatants on other side, flowing like water through the battlefield.

 _What in Naga's name…_ he wondered, completely thrown off by the events, before shrugging. _Well, I'll leave them to it. Time to get back to business. Perhaps if I kill enough Valmese, one of the sweet lasses here will finally go out to tea with me…_ he then turned about and lunged at the nearest Valmese.

000

"That's the signal," Frederick stated as the flare ignited over the market square, just as the distant sounds of battle reached them. "We all know the plan; let's get to it."

"Come on, you faint-hearted scum! Can't handle the sight of a strong woman!?" Sully shouted as she bolted out of the alley they'd been hiding in, right into the middle of the street. The Valmese patrolling the empty streets for people absent from the event on the opposite side of town immediately whirled around and leveled their weapons at her. Sully, however, was unperturbed at being apparently outnumbered fifteen to one. "Where should I stab ya!?" she roared, before lunging at the nearest Valmese. Even as the other occupiers went to their comrade's aid, the other Shepherds stormed out of the alley, setting into them. Nowi and Nah transformed, and the distraction turned into a full on battle as their gargantuan forms and echoing roars began pulling Valmese from every corner of the city. Frederick frowned, however, as a rather large group of Valmese ran out from around one of the street corners; at least company strength. They were badly outnumbered.

Frederick smiled in relief and excitement as others began pouring into the streets from within the houses. They were armed, armored in whatever they could find, and were most decidedly against the Valmese, tearing into them with reckless abandon. They all cried "Vive la Résistance!" as they charged at their occupiers. Frederick interpreted the phrase from some of the snippets Cherche had told him of her native tongue over their training sessions; it meant "Long live the Resistance".

"For Ylisse!" Frederick roared as he thrusted his lance at a Valmese cavalier, killing him with a wound through the neck, and immediately appropriated his horse. "For Rosanne! For freedom!"

"Vive la liberté!" the rebels around him shouted. _Long live liberty,_ Frederick translated mentally. Nodding in grim satisfaction, Frederick urged his appropriated mount forward, intent on running down a squad of Valmese knights that had cornered some of their new allies.

"Your last breath approaches!" Frederick roared as his appropriated mount trampled one and his lance found a weakpoint in another knight's neck. The Resistance fighters immediately lunged forward, taking advantage of Frederick's distraction, and the small squad was quickly taken care of. "To me, brave fighters of Rosanne!" Frederick called, rearing his horse onto its hind legs and using his free hand to fire his team's flare into the air. "We'll run these bastards out of your city, and your country! Death to the Empire!"

"Death to the Empire!" they echoed, before falling upon the latest wave of Valmese reinforcements.

000

"Well, it looks like everyone else is having fun," Gaius said lightly as he saw a second flare go off. He also saw Nah and Nowi's heads poking above the edge of the buildings, and flares of white fire here and there as some poor sod got incinerated.

"They shall not be the only ones," Panne vowed with a bloodthirsty grin, before bending down and transforming into her beast form. Yarne was immediately behind her, though he looked far less enthusiastic about the prospect. "Try to keep up, man-spawn," she said in a flanged voice, before turning and bounding toward the stairs to the upper wall. The others yelped and immediately took off after them, even as the sounds of screaming soldiers made themselves known from the top of the wall. When they reached the top, however, they were surprised to see that the Valmese were apparently fighting amongst themselves. The local Resistance had infiltrated the Valmese ranks, they realized. The infiltrators had cast off their helmets and non-critical portions of their armor to differentiate friend from foe, and they were setting into their "allies" with a viciousness that only hatred could beget.

"Well, this is a welcome development," Cirith said lightly. "Come and get some!" she jeered as she charged forward, cutting down a Valmese swordsman still wearing their helmet, her katar slicing through the boiled leather with ease.

"The first kill was rightfully mine!" Panne snarled in anger, venting her rage on the nearest Valmese soldier. Gaius had to avert his eyes; Panne could be downright gruesome sometimes. "The taguel do not play!" she cried triumphantly as she dropped his mangled corpse, before charging at the next one.

"You know kid, you're mom's pretty terrifying," Gaius said casually as most of the others charged forward then, shouting their own war cries.

"Yeah," Yarne said uneasily. "But I wanna be like her someday. To have no fear like that. To make _others_ afraid for once." He then charged forward himself, tearing into the nearest enemy with a ferocity that uneased Gaius.

"I think you already kinda are like her, Bunny," Gaius said with a shudder as he bent down next to the corpse after Yarne had charged off, to pat down their pockets for gold. He was elated to find a pouch full of candy, instead. "Like taking candy from a babe," he snickered as he pocketed his goods. As an arrow whizzed over his head, he decided he'd loot later, and began throwing knives at the archer who'd fired the offending projectile.

000

"Gregor, would you do ze honors?" Virion asked lightly as the two flares burned brightly overhead.

"Aye, Gregor know what to do," the old merc said with a feral grin. He quickly clambered out of the sewers, a small, black pot in one hand and match in the other.

"Hey, who are you!?" One of the Valmese soldiers guarding the gatehouse said, whirling and turning their sword on him. His squadmates immediately followed suit, brandishing their own weapons.

"Stop, or we'll attack!" another added warningly as Gregor walked slowly forward.

"Don't want to get along, eh?" Gregor chortled, before lighting the device in his hand. Before the Valmese soldiers could react, Gregor lobbed the device at them. He dived into a nearby alley as the device detonated, shredding the guards' light armor and filling them with shrapnel.

"Oy, Ruffles!" Gregor shouted back into the sewer. "Guards are of dead now, but noisiness be attractink more, no? Git with the goink!"

"Let's go, my friends!" Virion proclaimed. He quickly clambered out of the sewer, with Say'ri, Thomas, Kellam, and Stahl right behind him.

"The jiggink is up!" Gregor shouted warningly as a squad of Valmese soldiers sprinted around the corner of the street.

"Say'ri, Thomas, to me!" Virion shouted. "We'll secure ze gatehouse and open ze gate. Kellam, Gregor, Stahl, give zem our regards!"

"Wait, you're just leaving us out here!?" Kellam cried indignantly as the other three charged into the gatehouse, and the sound of clashing steel began. The sound of charging armored boots forced him to face forward, as several dozen Valmese knights closed in. "This is not looking good," he muttered warily.

"Make not with the worryink, friend Kellam," Gregor said jovially, slapping Kellam on his pauldron. "Me and squad of ultimate badasses will protect you, eh?"

"What squad?" Stahl said incredulously. "It's just us!"

Just as Stahl said that, however, a thunderous groaning sound echoed behind them. They turned to see the gate slowly grinding its way open. The sight of the army just on the other side brought the Valmese soldiers to a halt, and a relieved smile to the Shepherds' faces.

"Forward!" Walter shouted, raising his mace, before pointing it forward. "Drive the Valmese vermin from Rosanne!" With a resounding roar, the Ylissean Army surged forward into the city, the paltry number of Valmese in the immediate area being almost immediately swept away by the tide of blue-armored soldiers.

000

Morgan pocketed her beaten old spyglass as she watched Panne's group disable the catapults on the side of the wall that had the gate. They were only supposed to attack when her Dad's or Frederick's squads were engaged, so either something was going horribly wrong, or it was their turn. Judging by the slowly opening gates, it was more the latter than the former. Either way, it was time to move.

"Let's go, everyone!" she shouted. Sumia, Cordelia, Phila, and her dad and Cherche's riderless wyverns each gave their own verbal form of acknowledgement, before they kicked off from the camp and immediately took off toward the city. The Pegasus Knights were soon to follow, and soon they'd passed over the walls and into the city.

"Cordelia, take half of your Knights and aid the Army and Virion's team!" Morgan shouted. Cordelia saluted, before calling out to the young women and guiding them west, toward the gate. "Phila take a quarter of the Knights, help Panne's team! Sumia, you've got the rest, help Frederick's team!" they each saluted, before darting off over the city. Morgan looked down at the chaos below and smiled; the locals had apparently read her mind, and were well and truly prepared to rebel before they'd even entered the city. Patchwork-armored men fought with red-armored Valmese everywhere she looked. She saw a pair of blurs darting through the battlefield, and eventually identified one as Morene. They were heading toward the gate now; Morgan hoped she would be alright.

"Come on guys," Morgan said to Minerva and Dean. "Let's go find Dad and Cherche."

000

"First platoon, repair those barricades!" Robin barked. Lucretia had disappeared somewhere into the city, and Morene along with her. Gods knew when she'd be back. But the others were still here, and they had driven the Valmese out of the market square and the surrounding areas. They'd reclaimed this section of the city, the southern quarter, and given the sounds of fighting in the distance, the other groups were making good progress. "Second platoon, get the wounded back to the market, we're establishing the infirmary there! Once that's done, you're guarding it! Third and fourth platoons, follow Chrom and Lucina, you're going to push into the rest of the city!"

"Well done, lad," Gerard congratulated him. He'd taken a minor head wound at some point, and his red hair was matted with blood that turned it a few shades darker, but he didn't seem to care. From the looks of him, Robin guessed that wasn't even the fourth time he'd taken a head wound. "My boys are capable fighters, but not very disciplined. You turned them into a damn army!"

"Well, I try," Robin said a bit sheepishly. "Have you seen my friends? More specifically the pink haired one that Lucretia had captured? Her name is Cherche, she served the local Duke before the war. Ring a bell?"

"Yeah, she's back in the market, tending the wounded," Gerard asked, giving him a critical look that Robin couldn't understand. "What's your business with Lady Cherche?"

"Uh…she's my friend, and I wanted to make sure she was alright after watching a child be tortured in front of her now that we've managed to establish a foothold?" Robin asked, nonplussed. "Is…did I cross some kind of cultural line she didn't tell me about? Cause you seem pretty angry me right now, and I'm kinda at a loss as to why."

"Let's go with that," Gerard said, suddenly appearing almost hostile. "How well do you know her?"

"Well…uh…about as well as anyone can after a couple months?" Robin offered. Gerard gave him a scowl. "What, what did I do!?"

"Hmm….nothing," Gerard said. "So what's the next step, kid?"

"Well… we're going to fortify this quarter of the city, before pushing onto the rest of the city. We've deployed other squads in a few spots and from the sounds of it the Army's entered the city, if we can link up with them fast enough, we can put forward a concentrated effort to get to the inner castle before they seal it." Robin was thankful that Gerard didn't seem on the verge of killing him anymore and had decided to change the subject, but…well what was his deal!?

"Hmm. Good plan," Gerard said gruffly. "Better than mine anyway, which was 'kill anything wearing red'."

"Well, that's the overall plan, yeah, this is just the…fancier version of it," Robin chuckled. "By the way, I don't think I actually introduced myself yet. I'm Robin, Grandmaster of the Outrealm Alliance." He held out his hand for Gerard to shake.

"Hmph," Gerard said. "Ain't that a fancy title... I'm Gerard DuGalle, a retired merc turned revolutionary." He ignored Robin's outstretched hand. He lowered it, feeling kind of sheepish. He also felt like he'd heard the name "DuGalle" before but couldn't think of where. "Well, let's go find your 'friend', since you want to see her so damn bad."

"Uh…yeah, sure," Robin said, chuckling nervously. "So I take it you respect her?"

"Damn right I do," Gerard responded. "Damn proud of her too. Life ain't been the same here since Cervantes kicked her out. We all missed her."

"She's popular then?" Robin asked.

"Damn right," Gerard said, shooting him a grin. "Hells, there was talk of just making _her_ the Duchess of Rosanne after that craven little bastard Virion left us out to rot."

Robin frowned at that. "Look, Gerard," he said patiently, "I realize he made mistakes, but he's my friend, and I'm not gonna just sit there and let you insult him. Especially when he wants more than anything to do the right thing for your people. Hells, he's out there fighting right now!"

"You can't fix being yellow," Gerard scoffed, and Robin glared at him. "And now that I know that you're in with that fop, I definitely ain't letting you around my daughter."

Robin just rolled his eyes as they walked into the market square. "I'm sure your daughter's a nice girl, but I don't even know her. And I don't take after Virion either, he's just my friend." He then spotted Cherche's pink hair in the distance, kneeling next to one of the injured locals. "Ah, there she is!" he said happily. "I'll be back in a minute, come get me if there's an emergency though."

"But that's my wife, you idiot…" Gerard started, but Robin was already halfway across the square. He then just chuckled. _Well, this'll be a story to share with the boys next Friday,_ he mentally laughed _. He better not try to be_ too _friendly with Cherise; she'd eat him alive. Thank gods I picked a woman who can look out for herself. Cleric or not, she could probably kick my arse, let alone that scrawny whelp_ , he thought with amusement.

"Papa!" a voice shouted gleefully to his left. Before he could react, he was practically bowled off his feet as a woman collided with him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Oof!" he grunted as he collided with the building next to him. "Careful with your old man!" he laughed as looked down and saw his daughter clung onto him. "I'm glad you're safe," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her.

"Papa, I've missed you so terribly," his daughter said. She pulled her head away from him briefly to flash him a winning smile, the same one her mother had that had won him over so many years ago _. Beautiful, just like her mom,_ he thought fondly. "I'm so glad you're alright!"

"It'll take more than some whore or a bunch of green conscripts to bring your old man down, Cherche," Gerard chuckled. He looked over and laughed as Robin was looking around worriedly now, realizing that Cherise wasn't the woman he was looking for. "'Friend' of yours?" he asked sternly, pointing at the now frantic tactician.

Cherche blushed at the very pointed, specific glare he was leveling at her. "Y-yes, he is, or at least, I would like him to be," Cherche stuttered. Gerard's frown deepened. "Oh, don't be like that Papa," Cherche admonished as she finally released him, giving him a playful punch to the chest. _Damn, she's gotten strong,_ he thought proudly as he rubbed the spot she'd punched.

"Any man who wants you has to be better than me, that's the rule," Gerard repeated for the nth time in Cherche's life.

"Oh, it hasn't even gotten anywhere near that point yet, Papa. I…I don't even know if that's how he feels," Cherche said nervously. "And there is a…complication."

"And what would that be?" Gerard asked suspiciously. His interrogation was interrupted, however, as a few people scattered in front of them as a shadow appeared overhead. A second later, a wyvern slammed down to the cobblestone, the weight making him stumble a bit. Atop it was a girl that Gerard swore to Naga was a female clone of the boy he was interrogating his daughter about. _A sister, maybe?_

"Hi Cherche!" the girl said happily. "Seen Dad anywhere?"

"Yes, he's right over there, speaking with my mother," Cherche responded with a smile. A smile that widened as Minerva landed next to Morgan, and Cherche embraced her mount's neck happily. _Wait, what?_ Gerard thought in shock, looking between the girl on the wyvern and the kid his wife was now dragging toward the wounded, handing him a staff along the way. _What in the gods-damn-_

"Cool, thanks! We've secured a large portion of the wall and the Army's made it into the city. But I gotta go, the Valmese are falling back and we need to get into the inner castle before they seal it up. See ya!"

"Farewell, Morgan," Cherche giggled, waving as the girl immediately took off toward her father. Her grin faded, however, as she looked back to her own father and saw his dumbfounded look. "Papa? Is something wrong?"

"How in the nine hells does that boy have a daughter that age?" Gerard asked incredulously. "If he's got five years on her I'll be damn surprised!"

"Six, actually. Like I said, it's complicated," Cherche muttered nervously. "I will explain more later. First, we have a city to liberate, no?"

"Yeah, sure…" Gerard mumbled, still a bit thrown off by the whole thing. "That better be one hell of an explanation."

 **AN:**

 **And thus, the first half of the Liberation of Castle Virion comes to a close!**

 **BETCHA WEREN'T EXPECTING ME TO FORCE ANOTHER BERSIAN CHARACTER INTO HERE, HUH? /s. Seriously though, Lucretia is just awful lol. Her torturing a child would not be beyond her.**

 **And INIGO IS HERE! If you didn't think I'd be making his last name Montoya, you are dead wrong lmao. My mental map of Valm that I'm using for this fic has Rosanne in the upper-right quarter of Valm, and that's where Inigo's recruitment chapter happens, so I decided to alter it a bit. Plus, giving him a flashy entrance like that just felt right lol.**

 **My mental age brackets have Morgan and Lucina five years apart in age (three by actual birth, but Lucina's been aging while Morgan was busy time traveling), while Chrom and Robin are the same age at 22. Since I already listed Lucina as twenty one that makes Morgan 16, which puts her and her dad 6 years apart. MATH.**

 **And MEET THE PARENTS! Lol. Cherche's stated motivation for fighting is that she wants to see her parents again, but you see neither hide nor hair of them (or anything in Rosanne for that matter) during the game, and since Cherche is actually an important character in this story and we're obviously already in Rosanne, I wanted to bring them into it. So, I made up some shit on the spot. Meet Gerard DuGalle (points if you can figure out where I stole that name from), ex-merc and father of Cherche. We'll be meeting Cherise, her mother, next chapter.**


	89. Chapter 89

**Chapter 89**

 **Vive** **L** **a** **Résistance** **: Deuxième** **P** **artie**

Robin sighed as he set down the healing staff he'd been using, plopped down on the nearest bench, and ran his hands over his face in exhaustion. He'd probably just smeared blood all over it, but he was too tired to care. They'd managed to secure the entire outer half of the city, forcing the Valmese back into the inner castle, where they'd sealed up the gates and refused to come out, despite their best efforts to break through before they could do so. They'd recently dispatched a messenger to argue conditions for surrender to General Cervantes, and were waiting on results. Robin had taken the time to assist with the injured with the middle-aged woman who looked unnervingly like Cherche. The other medically inclined Shepherds were also here while the combat-oriented Shepherds were scouring the city for any straggling Valmese. They were working with the Resistance's own clerics, the Cherche-look alike apparently being their leader.

"You did very well, for a man who supposedly isn't a cleric," the woman, Cherise as she'd introduced herself, teased as she sat down next to him. Robin couldn't get over how unnervingly similar she was to Cherche; the only real difference were some faint crow's feet and a single lock of grey hair.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't formally trained," Robin said sheepishly, "but I've had to pick a staff up a few times. I've also gotten a few pointers from my friends…speaking of which," he said, getting to the point, "you look a lot like one of them. Would you happen to know a woman named Cherche, by chance?"

"Cherche?" the woman asked, a worried frown mixed with a hopeful look in her eyes. Robin was spot on; they were related. He was fairly certain this was her mother. "Do you know where she is? If she's alright?"

"Your daughter is fine, last I saw her," Robin said, chuckling as the woman visibly deflated with relief. "She was heading off to fight off the Valmese with Minerva and the Resistance leader."

"Of course she was with Minerva, those two are inseparable," Cherise said dryly. "You say you're friends with her?"

"Yeah, she taught me how to fight on a wyvern properly," Robin said, trying to ignore the very pointed look and smirk Cherise was leveling at him. "She's great. Couldn't ask for a better friend."

"How good of friends are you with her?" Cherise asked pointedly, a painfully familiar disarming smile coming to her face as Robin paled. _Abort, abort!_

"Is…is this the time for such things?" Robin asked, his voice a few octaves higher than he wanted it to be. "Oh, look! An excuse! I guess I have to go tend to it. It was great talking to you!" Even as he stood and tried to bolt away, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice grip. _Oh gods now I know where Cherche gets it from,_ he thought as he was forced to sit back down.

"Now now, child," Cherise giggled, even as Robin's mind went into a mild panic, "if you're after my daughter, you could at least not be craven about it."

"I'm not 'after' her!" Robin said defensively, and Cherise gave him a disbelieving look. "Well, I mean yeah, I…like…her…" he admitted, turning as pink as Cherise's hair as her grin turned outright wicked, "but it's…well, it's complicated."

Cherise simply laughed at him, and he turned fully red. "All youth say that," she chuckled. "I promise you, it's not as complicated as you think."

"Oh really?" Robin said with a smug grin. "Do the other youths you've apparently talked to have a time-traveling amnesiac daughter in their lives?" Cherise's smile finally gave way to a look of shock. "Yeah, like I said, it's…complicated," Robin muttered. "That girl who was talking to me before, she was my daughter," he told her, and she nodded in disbelieving acceptance. "I haven't even had her yet in this timeline. I haven't even had a _date_ with a woman in this timeline yet, let alone did… _that_. At least as far as I know, because hey, I'm an amnesiac too! Like father, like daughter!" Cherise laughed at that. "Yet here comes Morgan, quite literally out of the blue, to let me know that 'hey, you're gonna be a married family man someday'!" Robin then took on a worried frown. "Don't get me wrong, I love Morgan to death, more than anything in the world, but…well, I'm terrified. I'd never even put thought into finding a wife or settling down, I've been too busy trying to help Chrom keep his kingdom from falling apart, cause gods know the lummox would lead us off a metaphorical cliff if I wasn't around." Cherise laughed again. "It's just…overwhelming sometimes, you know? And I just haven't found the time for… _that,_ " Robin sighed as he finished talking. _She's as easy to talk to as her daughter,_ he mused.

"Well, at least your daughter is proof that you're a capable father," Cherise said with an approving look. "She's remarkably well adjusted for a girl with no memory, and she seems quite fond of you."

"Practically hero-worships me," Robin chuckled, before frowning, "but Morgan's why…well, why I'm not really 'after' your daughter."

"Is there something wrong with my daughter?" Cherise asked, her disarming smile returning, and a dangerous edge to her gaze.

"N-no, not at all!" Robin squeaked. "It's just that Morgan already has a mother," he said quietly, and Cherise nodded for him to continue. "She doesn't remember anything about her, so I have no idea who she is. I'm just afraid that if I pursued my feelings for Cherche, and she's not Morgan's mother, then…my daughter won't be born in this timeline," he sighed, and Cherise nodded in understanding, before laughing. "W-what, I'm being serious!" Robin said defensively.

"Yes, and that's precisely your problem," Cherise teased. "You're overthinking all of this."

"What do you mean by that?" Robin huffed.

"Well, for starters, you said you've never even had a date before, so you have undoubtedly never even pursued a woman, yes?" Cherise asked, and Robin nodded. "Then that means you don't really form emotional attachments to most women that way, which greatly lowers the candidate pool for who your daughter's potential mother could be. Are you following?" Robin nodded again. "Are there any among your number, aside from my daughter, that you have interest in?"

"Oh no, I'm not answering that question," Robin said accusingly. "It's practically suicide to tell a woman's parents if you're 'shopping around'."

"Oh hush, child," Cherise laughed. "I'll have you know I was highly sought after in my heyday, and I know well how men think. It would not surprise or bother me if your interest was divided; you are only human, after all, and you are not currently _in_ a relationship with my daughter, just considering one. If you were _in_ a relationship, I'd gut you alive for even glancing at another woman. My husband would do far worse. But you are not, so I will be fair. Now, answer the question."

"Honestly?" Robin responded, a bit unnerved at a cleric casually threatening to gut him, and Cherise nodded. "No, not really. I mean, I _do_ think Princess Say'ri's beautiful, but we get along like oil and water, and she'd never settle for a commoner like me, and I just don't really have any interest in her that way. The rest of my friends are married. There's no one else."

"I see," Cherise stated. "So, there is only one woman you're truly interested in. Did you ever consider that you were the same way in your daughter's timeline?"

"I…uh, no?" Robin responded. "What do you mean?"

"Did it not occur to you that, in your daughter's timeline," Cherise explained, "you met your daughter's mother and only had eyes for her? That you didn't really consider another woman in that way? After all, are you not the same person? Would you not think the same way, do the same things?"

"Well…I don't know," Robin said, now confused as he tried to parse Cherise's words. "Yeah, I guess. I don't know if I had this amnesia of mine in Morgan's timeline, and remembering something about my past might change how I act in a certain situation, but…well, I guess I'd be roughly the same guy, yeah," Robin finished.

"So, assuming that," Cherise said, "let us consider a hypothetical scenario. In your daughter's timeline, you met _my_ daughter, and only had eyes for her, and eventually married her and had a child together. Could that not be what happened?"

"Well…yeah, it could be," Robin said, a bit flustered at the idea, "but I don't _know_ if that's what happened, and if I'm wrong-"

"There you go, overthinking things again," Cherise interrupted, giggling, and Robin sulked. "This may come as a shock to you, child, but nobody knows the future. Not even those who come from it. You will never 'know' what's going to happen; you can only make educated guesses. You could pursue my daughter, and it doesn't work out, and you meet Morgan's 'true' mother, and marry her instead. Naga knows I could see Cherche losing patience with you, if overthinking things this much is a habit for you." She laughed as Robin sulked. "You could refuse to act, and ultimately never find love, and your daughter is not born at all. Or you could not act on your interest in my daughter, and find Morgan's 'true' mother while you're sitting there overthinking things. Our hypothetical scenario could be correct, and Morgan could in fact be my granddaughter. But the thing is, neither of us have any way of knowing for a fact what will happen. But given the fact that you quite simply don't pursue most women, the number of candidates for who Morgan's mother could be shrinks rapidly, making my daughter ever more likely, no?"

"But as a father, I have a duty to make the decision that's best for Morgan," Robin argue. "What you're clearly implying, that I 'just go for it', could seriously backfire."

"Or it could work out beyond your wildest hopes," Cherise countered. "As I said, child, you cannot know. You can only feel, and act or not act." Robin muttered something that sound like a begrudging admission, and Cherise smiled. "What time of year is it?" Cherise asked out of the blue.

"Uh…late autumn," Robin said. "Winter should be starting soon. Hopefully the snow that will fall here will stop the Conqueror from retaliating so we can finish shipping the rest of the Hironeiden Army over. That's part of the reason I opted to choose Rosanne as the Alliance's base of operations…assuming your people are okay with housing more uninvited guests."

"Well, I can see someone here enjoys their work," Cherise chided, and Robin grumbled. "But yes, it is almost winter. It is Cherche's favorite time of year; she adores the snow, even if Minerva does not. Her favorite holiday is the Winter Solstice."

"Yeah, I remember her mentioning that once," Robin said. "Why are you bringing it up?"

"Because if you plan on making a move, it would be beneficial to do so during her favorite time of year. It is solid tactical advice," Cherise said teasingly, and Robin turned red again, causing her to laugh.

"I never thought a mother would be this keen on getting her daughter into a relationship," Robin muttered in embarrassment.

"I wish only for my daughter to be happy," Cherise said softly, "and you're a good man. A bit prone to overthinking things, and probably a little _too_ invested in his work, but it's clear that you love your own daughter; enough to deny yourself a chance at happiness, if it came to that. If you were, or will be, half as devoted to your future wife as you are to your daughter, you would make Cherche very happy. You had _better_ make Cherche happy," she emphasized, the disarming smile that Robin was quickly associating with mortal danger coming to her face. "Good day, child," she said with a polite bow, her tone at odds with the clear threat in her previous statement.

"Good day, Mrs…uh, what's your surname, again?" he asked sheepishly. "Cherche only ever told me once, but I forgot it."

"DuGalle," Cherise responded with a smile. "Now, I've got to go find my husband Gerard before the fool charges headlong at the inner castle alone; you'd think retiring from mercenary work would cool him down, but if anything it's had the _opposite_ effect. Good day," she said cheerily, before striding away.

"Good day, Mrs. DuGalle," Robin called after her cheerily. _She's…nice,_ Robin thought with a smile. _I can see where Cherche gets it from. Hopefully her dad's just as amenable to the idea, cause I think I'm gonna go for-_ His train of thought came to a screeching halt, however, as he remembered where he'd heard the name "Gerard" before. A quick scan of recent memory indicated that it was paired with the last name DuGalle and the prior vocation of mercenary work… _Oh gods,_ he thought in horror, realizing that he'd already met Cherche's father. _I'm so dead._

000

"Hey Cherche!" Morgan said cheerily as she and Dean touched down next to her father's friend. They were at the front of the battle lines just ahead of the bulk of the Resistance members, just outside of arrow range of the inner wall. Cherche was with that red headed guy again. "Dad sent me up here to see if General Cervantes responded to our call to parley yet. He's currently helping out in the infirmary."

"No, he hasn't," Cherche responded grimly, staring ahead at the castle. "I'm beginning to grow concerned. General Cervantes is usually more decisive than this; I would have thought he'd have had an answer by now…"

"No worries, Cherche," Morgan said cheerily, reaching over and patting her on the back, "everything will be fine! Either Cervantes is smart and he'll surrender while he has the chance, or he's dumb and decides to fight us, and Dad will lead us to victory!" she proclaimed proudly. "We've got this in the bag. I mean, Dad promised that he'd help you free Rosanne and find your parents, and Dad always keeps his promises! I can remember that much at least," she finished with a smile.

Cherche couldn't help but mirror it. _She's such a loving daughter,_ she thought fondly. "Yes, your father seems to take his promises seriously," Cherche laughed. "In fact, he's fulfilled one of them already, though I don't think he knows it yet. Morgan, this is my father, Gerard," she said gesturing to the man next to her. "and my mother is working in the infirmary, I believe you already spoke to her?"

"Oh, hi Cherche's dad!" Morgan said cheerily, her smile somewhat fading as he gave her a leery look. _First it's all of the future children, now strangers!?_ "It's a pleasure to meet you! You're wife's super nice too, just like Cherche. I can see where she gets it from!"

Gerard finally cracked a smile, and Morgan mentally pumped her fist in triumph. _Nobody can resist some of the ol' Morgan charm!_ "Yeah, Cherise is pretty great," he chuckled. "And I'm damn proud of my daughter," he said, beaming at a now flustered Cherche. "So, you're that boy's daughter, eh?"

"Yep!" Morgan responded happily. "I mean, technically he hasn't had me yet, but he's definitely my dad."

"How in blazes does that work?" Gerard asked in befuddlement. "And how in blazes are you damn near his age?"

"Because I happened to wander into some magical ruins and got transported like ten or fifteen years into the past," Morgan said in a nonchalant tone, laughing uproariously at the utterly shocked and bewildered expression on Gerard's face. "There's a whole bunch of us here like that, actually. Well, they came back in time on purpose, but yeah,"

"Um, Morgan?" Cherche asked sheepishly. "Perhaps you should stop talking about that? I would very much prefer if my father did not have a heart attack."

"Oh, quit your fussing, I'm fine," Gerard grumbled, though his face was still blank in confusion. "That's just…well, that's damn weird," he stated bluntly, causing Morgan to laugh. "So who's your mother, then?" Gerard asked.

"Father!" Cherche shouted, turning as pink as her hair and scowling. _What's that about…oh. OH!_ Morgan realized in surprise. _She likes Dad! SHE LIKES DAD! HOLY COW!_ Morgan began looking at Cherche in an entirely new light as she jabbed at her clearly amused father with the butt of her lance and yelled at him in embarrassment, saying how that "wasn't a question you could just ask a woman". _Could…could she be my mom?_ Morgan thought in awe.

"It's an honest question," Gerard said, grinning at his daughter's embarrassment. "So, girl?"

"Who knows?" Morgan said with a shrug, causing Cherche to blush further and Gerard to frown. "He hasn't had me in this timeline yet," she explained. "He hasn't even gone out on a date before!" she said with a laugh, causing Gerard to chuckle and Cherche to flush further. Despite Morgan's whirlwind of emotions and thoughts regarding Cherche right now, her mind defaulted to the one thing she was good at: teasing the hell out of people. "Actually, Cherche, I was hoping _you_ could show dad the ropes," she said with an evil grin.

"M-Morgan!" Cherche yelped as Gerard scowled. Morgan could hardly contain her amusement.

"What?" Morgan asked innocently. "I mean, he's hopeless!" she laughed. "And he talks so much about how you're such a good friend, so I'm _sure_ you'd just _love_ to help him! And seriously, he needs the help," Morgan said in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Morgan, it's rude to talk about your father that way," Cherche said sternly, but Morgan recognized the deflection. _Oh, I've got you now_. "He's just dedicated to his work. You're proof that he's more than capable of winning a woman over." Gerard looked about ready to break something.

"Yeesh, Mom, I'm just joking around," Morgan said in a flippant tone. Cherche's face turning the color of her father's hair and her father's face emulating Minerva when she was snarling was _so_ worth the awkwardness that this was going to cause between her dad and Cherche. In fact, she saw that as a benefit too. Plus…well, calling her "Mom" didn't sound "wrong" per se. A bit weird, but…yeah, it was alright.

"W-what?" Cherche squeaked uncharacteristically. "Morgan…are you saying I'm…" she scowled as Morgan broke out into raucous laughter.

"Nope, still can't remember anything but Dad and Dean, I was just messing with you," Morgan chuckled. Cherche looked about as murderous as her father by this point. _Time for an "advance to the rear"._ "Welp, gotta go relay the news to Dad, so bye _Mom_ , bye _Grandpa_!" She cackled evilly as she urged Dean Senior into the air, and her laughter continued to be heard by them even as she disappeared over the rooftops.

"…I'm too old for this shit," Gerard sighed as his daughter stared down at her saddle in shock. Minerva turned to him, and he'd seen enough of that wyvern to know the look she was giving him. "Shut it, you," he growled. Minerva gave a short chuff before turning back forward, eyeing the castle ahead of them. _I wish the damn Valmese would hurry up and decide what they're doing already,_ Gerard thought in irritation. _I need a distraction. Or mead._

000

"Hey Dad!" Morgan said cheerily as he set down next to Robin. "Mom says that General Cervantes hasn't responded yet."

Robin spat out the water he was drinking, and Morgan cackled. He immediately saw what she was doing. "Not…funny…" he forced out.

"Oh, it's _hilarious_ ," Morgan argued with an evil grin. "You should have _seen_ Mom when I called her that!"

Robin was thankful he hadn't tried to drink any more water; it would likely be on its way out his nose again. "W-would you quit that!" he stammered.

"Yeesh, you and _Cherche_ are no fun," Morgan pouted. "But yeah, General Cervantes hasn't answered yet. Cherche says he should do so soon, though."

"I suppose we better get up there, then," Robin responded. "The rest of the Shepherds, minus our medical personnel, are already up there, and I don't want to miss the party. Has anyone seen Morene?"

"A couple of soldiers mentioned seeing a couple of women fighting to the west of the city," Morgan said, "and I saw Morene fighting someone, but she hasn't reported back yet. Given that Lucretia hasn't come forward to insult or taunt us yet, I'm guessing that she's either gone from the city or trying to be gone, and Morene's pursuing her."

"Well, unfortunately, we can't afford to wait," Robin sighed. "We'll just have to hope Morene succeeds and comes back in one piece. Let's get to the others." Robin mounted Dean Junior, and the two took off for the lines of battle. They hastened their flight when they saw a small procession moving through the courtyard; it looked like General Cervantes was about to give his answer. They set down in front of the Resistance, next to Cherche and Gerard, just as the procession reached the top of the wall. A large, bald man with an enormous mustache and wearing heavy red armor strode forth to the edge of the wall.

"Good day, rebels!" the man greeted, rather jovially for a man completely surrounded by people who wanted to kill him. "I am General Cervantes of the Valmese Empire, and-"

"We are not 'rebels'!" Virion said heatedly, muscling through the ranks and stepping forward. "Ze people of Rosanne rightfully own zis country; you are naught but an invader, an usurper, a lap dog for a bloodthirsty tyrant!" Robin nervously noted the angry murmurs behind him; the Resistance members here apparently hadn't noted Virion's presence until he'd spoken up, and he doubted any of them had any good feelings about him.

"Ah, well, isn't this a surprise!" Cervantes chortled. "It's the Most Cowardly of Cravens, finally having grown a spine to fight alongside his people!" The Valmese soldiers jeered, and even a few of the Resistance members did. Virion clenched his fist in anger.

"Silence, you poorly groomed barbarian!" Virion barked. "Yes, I fled!" he admitted aloud, to the surprised murmurs of the Resistance behind them. They clearly had expected him to make excuses or deny the accusation. "And it was wrong of me! Zat is why I am here, now, to do what I always should have: lead my people against ze tyranny of your cruel master!"

"You?" Cervantes chortled. "Don't make me laugh! You fought but one battle against us, and threw your soldiers away like tools. Nobody in their right mind would follow you into battle! Come now, rebels, bring me a _real_ representative, not just one that you threw out here in case we decided to pepper them full of arrows!" he called out. "Perhaps young Lady Cherche? I heard she was here. I can respect her, at least; she gave me quite the fight to subdue you lot, after all!"

"You can speak to Lord Virion," Cherche shouted coldly, "or you can speak to no one at all!" The Resistance members behind her, however, were decidedly less on board with that plan.

"You can speak to me, then," Gerard said, stepping forward. "Gerard DuGalle, leader of the Resistance."

"Ah, I remember you," Cervantes chortled. "The Inquisitor curses your name regularly. You are quite the thorn in our sides."

"I aim to please," Gerard responded with a smirk. "You got two options, Cervantes: you can surrender, or you can die."

"I'm afraid I don't like either of those options," Cervantes shot back. "I say we just hold the inner castle until our friends from Hexter arrive either today or tomorrow, and we crush you between us." _Oh crap,_ Robin thought in a panic. They thought the Orcs were mostly in Chon'sin; they were entirely unprepared to deal with them right now. _We can't afford to get surrounded right now._

"Zere is a third option!" Virion called out.

"Oh?" Cervantes responded, clearly just humoring him. "And what would that be?"

"You withdraw your forces from the city," Virion answered. "We shall let you leave in peace, and you shall convince your allies to cease zeir impending assault on ze city."

"And why would I do such a thing?" Cervantes chortled.

"I know you are no heartless dog like most Imperials," Virion called out. "I remember your name, from long before ze Conqueror ever began his conquest! You care about your men, and you care about ze little folk! To stay and fight would be to invite yet more death and despair to your men, and to my people, all so zat you might appeal to your foolish pride as a warrior! Ze Orcs are not known for zeir restraint; zey will cause irreparable damage to ze city and slaughter my people! Zere is no reason zat must happen! Simply withdraw your forces, and we shall leave you be!" Cervantes stroked his mustache contemplatively. Robin was hopeful that this would be it. He hoped that they wouldn't have to tear apart the entire inner castle to get to him before the Orcs arrived.

"Have you lost your wits!?" Gerard snarled. "Do you have any idea what that bastard and the Inquisitor have done to us? You just want them to walk free!?"

"No, Gerard," Virion answered. "Zey shall face zeir reckoning. Ze Alliance shall not stop at Rosanne. We shall see zat cruel despot Walhart overthrown and liberty restored to ze continent of Valm! When we are victorious, all who have served ze Conqueror will be punished. But must his punishment be today, at ze cost of our people, our city?" he pleaded. Gerard, and all of Resistance members present, hesitated for a long moment, before nodding in reluctant acceptance of Virion's plan.

"Yeah, fine," Gerard scoffed, before turning back to Cervantes. "Yeah, we'll let you go free, you bastards. But if you ever show your sorry hides in Rosanne again, we'll make what the Inquisitor just did to Jacques' daughter look tame compared to what we'll do to you." Robin's heart panged at the thought of that little girl; she had lost six of her fingers to frostbite, and a lot of her tendons and ligaments had been utterly ravaged. Libra wasn't sure if her hands were even going to be usable again, but he and Walter were trying their damnedest to make sure they would be.

"I will have you know that I was against her deployment here, and I was against her policies," Cervantes said indignantly. "That woman is a cruel little harpy; she has no place in a proper Army. Hells, she doesn't belong anywhere but in a fortified asylum." Robin narrowed his eyes. _So, Cervantes doesn't like Lucretia,_ he mused. _Are there any other cracks in the Valmese chain of command? Can we drive a wedge between them and Hexter?_ Cervantes rubbed his mustache in thought, before sighing. The action caused his mustache to flutter. "Very well then," he sighed, before turning to his men. "Pack up boys, we're leaving!" Robin was flooded with relief and visibly deflated in his saddle; there were many plans he was formulating to force their way into the inner castle, and none of them would have been easy or bloodless.

"Good job, Virion," Robin said proudly, reaching down and putting his hand on Virion's shoulder. "You just saved us a real meat grinder."

"Yeah, maybe if he'd stuck around when he _should_ have," Gerome scoffed, "then things might have been different."

"Gerard," Virion said uneasily, "I realize zat I have wronged our people, but-"

"Save it, fop," Gerard snapped, causing Virion to wince and Robin to scowl. "Maybe you're not full of shit for once in your life, and you want to fix your screwups. Well, you're not going to do it standing around here, and you certainly aren't going to do it with a few flowery words," he growled. "If you'll excuse me, I have a town to repair and people to check on. Why don't you go chase some skirts or something? Boy, I'll see you at your little war council," he said to Robin, before turning and storming off, leaving Robin scowling after him and Virion staring at the ground with his fists clenched.

"Milord," Cherche said hesitantly as she dismounted and strode over to Virion, "please, forgive my father. He did not mean-"

"Ah, but he did, Cherche," Virion said bitterly, looking up with a broken smile on his face. "And he was right. I will not fix my mistakes standing here in ze middle of ze street. I will oversee ze departure of ze Valmese. Assist Robin in whatever tasks he gives you, follow his orders as if zey were my own."

"As you wish, milord," Cherche said sadly as Virion turned and strode off, toward the now open gates to the inner castle. A few Resistance members followed behind him, though to guard him or watch him Robin couldn't tell. Probably the latter. "What would you have me do, Robin?"

Robin sighed as Virion disappeared from view. "Well, we need to start compiling reports and moving the Army into the city while Virion oversees the Valmese withdrawal. If we're quick enough, we'll have everything ready by the time the war council is ready to meet, and be able to defend the city in case Cervantes isn't a man of his word and the Orcs show up."

"Right away, Grandmaster," she said dutifully.

"Oh, and Cherche?" Robin said as she turned to walk away. She stopped mid turn and looked at him curiously. "Keep an eye on Virion once you're done, would you? I'm worried about him."

"As am I, Robin, as am I," Cherche sighed, before mounting Minerva and taking off.

"I thought you were gonna ask her out on a date for a second there," Morgan chortled as Cherche moved out of earshot. "I was all ready to lecture you about abusing Virion's orders for her to follow your every wish."

"Morgan!"

 **AN:**

 **And so, the liberation of Castle Virion comes to a close! The Alliance establishes a real foothold in Valm, and Best Mustache gets out without getting the traditional French revolutionary treatment (aka guillotine). I also wanted Virion to have a hand in it, but I didn't want the Resistance to just be like "Oh Virion's back let's follow him blindly". There's a few different ways I considered ending this chapter, but I chose what I chose lol.**

 **We also get introduced to Cherise, Cherche's mom. A cleric, obviously, and the reason Cherche knows how to use a staff.**

 **Morgan decides to torture her parents, because what else are children for?**

 **Gerard makes his dislike of Virion abundantly clear.**

 **Cervantes has a glorious mustache.**

 **And Rosanne is liberated. Stay tuned.**


	90. Chapter 90

**Chapter 90**

 **The Waiting Game**

"All told, this battle was a rousing success for us, even if Cervantes is returning to the Empire," Robin stated with a smile, though it quickly faded, "but I'm sorry about your lost men, Mister DuGalle," The Resistance had done the bulk of the fighting even after the gates had been breached, so while the Alliance casualties were light, the Resistance had taken twenty percent casualties. "They were heroes, and we won't forget them." They were now in Castle Virion's war room, gathered around the empty table that Valmese officers had been holding a similar meeting at just hours ago.

"They all knew the score, kid," Gerard sighed. "Not a whole lotta people were up to it at first. We didn't like some of the Empire's laws, and the draft was an unpopular choice, but overall Cervantes' rule was better than his," he said gruffly, jerking his thumb to Virion, who winced. "Less taxes. Better guards. Most of the local governors were kept in line, that bastard Farber excepted. Brigands actually stopped raiding the more remote villages. Punishment for dissent was harsh, and anyone openly professing faith to the Divine Dragons was put to death, but…well, things were more stable. Better."

"If that's the case, then why would you rebel?" Walter asked with a frown. "Not to imply that the people of Rosanne are faithless or lacking spirit, but one would think an improvement in quality of life would pacify an occupied nation."

"Cause it wasn't right," Gerard growled, slamming his fist on the table and startling a few people. "This continent used to be the One Kingdom of Valentia, a kingdom where men decided their own fate, their own beliefs," he snapped angrily, though at no one in particular. "Even after the Schism, liberty came first. We value our freedom here in Valm, in Rosanne. Men were allowed to make their own way in life. Even those stuffed shirts in Chon'sin didn't openly ban faiths or opinions." Say'ri narrowed her eyes at him, but Gerard continued. "It just plain wasn't right, the Empire coming up in here and telling people how to think, how to live. I didn't like it, and others didn't either. But for the most part you were right, the improvement in the quality of life had people comfortable with the new regime…until Lucretia was dispatched to get rid of the few members we had."

"What did she do?" Robin asked.

"You don't want to know, kid," Gerard sighed. "Let's just say what she did to Jacques' daughter earlier was her being lenient." The war council members' faces morphed into various expressions; disgust, horror, sympathy. "Before it was hard just arguing on ideological grounds, what with Cervantes being better than Lord Fop over there. But they sure came around quick when Lucretia was put in charge." Gerard then turned to Virion. "And you," he growled. "I suppose you thought you'd just waltz back up in here and take over, right?"

"Well…yes," Virion responded nervously. "It was an egregious mistake to leave, and I must make things-"

"Save it for someone who'll fall for your nonsense," Gerard snapped, causing Robin to bristle. _He's really getting on my nerves with that._ "I talked it over with the boys. We'll let you back…for now," he said warningly. "We'll follow your orders, salute and bow and be respectful, it'll be just like the old days…but you better turn over that new leaf you say you want to turn over. We're done living under petty tyrants. We clear?" He then took a brief swig out of the canteen hanging at his waist.

"Clear as a mountain spring," Virion said stiffly. "You do not trust me, and I do not expect you to; which is why I'm appointing you as ze General of Rosanne's army."

Robin was very thankful he hadn't gone to take a sip of his coffee, because it would probably be spraying out of his mouth and nose right now, like Gerard's water was.

"You…what!?" Gerard coughed out, his wife gently thumping on his back to help him breathe. "What's your angle?"

"My 'angle'," Virion responded with an amused grin, "is zat you are right about me. Or, rather, about ze man I once was. While I am determined to be a new man, it would be all too easy to fall back into ze old pattern. I will need someone to keep me on ze right path. Not friends, who may be too lenient or too willing to turn a blind eye, but someone who I know will do what must be done to ensure ze people of Rosanne are not abused. So what do you say, Gerard? Do you accept?"

"Uh, I'm not a damn military officer," Gerard said, sounding a bit panicked. Robin took joy in seeing him on the back foot like this. "I'm just an old merc and I was never in charge of our company, I'm not well-versed in strategy and tactics and whatnot."

"I am sure you are capable, and with such stalwart companions as zese, you will be able to learn swiftly," Virion responded with a smirk. "Do you accept or not?"

Robin had to hand it to Virion; he sure knew how to turn a bad situation in his favor. If Gerard refused such a public display of generosity and accountability, it would undermine him as the Resistance's leader. If he accepted, Virion would appear as if he was truly willing to be held accountable, because Gerard was apparently a vocal critic of Virion even before the Empire had conquered Rosanne. If Gerard succeeded at his job, it would reflect well on Virion's eye for talent. If he failed at his job, all Virion would have to say is that Gerard insisted on the appointment, and it would make Gerard look like a fool, hamstringing his credibility when arguing against Virion publicly. _You clever bastard,_ Robin thought in amusement. And judging from the sour look on Gerard's face, he knew exactly what Virion was pulling.

"Yeah, I accept," Gerard grumbled, causing Virion to smile wider.

"Excellent. Grandmaster, with Gerard's permission, I would pledge what troops Rosanne can afford to your cause," Virion said without a moment's hesitation.

"Already hashed that out the moment we heard you lot took Valm Harbor and were headed this way," Gerard stated. "Half of the Resistance can go with you, four thousand men. We're keeping half to defend Rosanne, though. Whether you use our country as a staging ground or not, we want our own people guarding our country."

"Perfectly reasonable," Robin replied with a smile. "Honestly, I was expecting nothing from your people; to drive out a military governor is one thing, but to openly wage war on the Empire is another. Are you sure your men are up to that?"

"Practically everyone lost someone in the initial invasion, or during Lucretia's 'inquisition'," Gerard stated bitterly. "The boys are more than up for sticking it to Walhart, even if they could honestly use some training first. Speaking of which, what's the plan for the war?"

"The Army's going to have to shut down for the winter," Robin sighed. It had started snowing an hour before the meeting. It was light, and would likely melt within a day, but it was a sign of the waning autumn, and Robin wouldn't be foolish enough to ignore it. "At least the Hironeiden Army can be shipped over in the meantime. Once spring hits, the Ylissean Army is going to be mobilizing to the Mila Tree, while the Hironeiden Army strikes westward to distract and put pressure on the Empire proper. Their hold on Chon'sin is unstable at best, given that it was subdued less than a year ago, and maybe pressuring the Empire will make our ultimate goal of liberating and allying with Chon'sin easier."

"The Mila Tree?" Gerard asked in surprise. "That's awful ambitious of you. You do know that those Orcs came from there, right? And that almost half of their army is camping around the Tree?"

"Yeah, and that's a major problem" Robin admitted. "We'll be working on a concrete battle plan while we wait for the first half of the Hironeiden Army. I trust you'll be joining us for those sessions?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Gerard sighed.

"Starting without me?" a voice said from the door. The attendees turned and gasped as they saw Morene stride in. Despite her abrasiveness and her pleasure in tormenting Robin by scaring the daylights out of him, he was immediately worried. She was _covered_ in deep cuts. "Oh, quit staring," she said dismissively. "Flesh wounds, mostly, they'll be healed within a day. My kind are far hardier than we appear, and I've endured far worse without so much as a scar. I'll be perfectly fine. Wish I couldn't say the same for Lucretia," she growled.

"I am relieved to see you're alright, Morene," Ilfa said with a smile, though she was clearly still worried about Morene. "What of Lucretia?"

"The treacherous snake managed to escape me," Morene scoffed in disgust. "I lost her in the forest to the west. Bloody Dark Elves and their trees…"

"Lucretia's escape is… problematic," Ilfa said quietly. "There is no small number of ex-Kaedes troops among my people, and I cannot honestly say none of them would join her."

"Well, there isn't much we can do about that," Robin said with a frustrated sigh. _This is gonna be a headache, I just know it_. "Just keep an eye on them, but don't get paranoid and start cracking down on nothing, or you might just drive them away."

"I believe it's my job to advise Her Majesty," Morene said with a drawl, though she smiled shortly thereafter. "But he's right, Your Majesty. That is…adequate advice. Valdemar's severity is the reason so many joined Kaedes to begin with. Let's not repeat his mistakes."

"Speaking of you 'Dark Elves'," Gerard stated pointedly, "I've got a problem."

"And what would that be, General?" Ilfa asked politely, though Gerard winced at the name.

"Given what we've just endured, I'm sure you understand that my people aren't exactly fond of your kind," Gerard stated bluntly. "Er….I'm understating that. My men threatened to gut the lot of you if you stay here too long."

"Lucretia's depravity is no fault of Ilfa's," Morene said hotly, "nor the rest of her people."

"No, Morene," Ilfa sighed. "I understand their feelings on the situation, and I appreciate General DuGalle's candor. What would you suggest we do?"

"I managed to knock the boys down from running you out of the country to just making sure you stayed out of the city," Gerard grunted. "I know it seems ungrateful, given that your friend there was fighting alongside us a few hours ago and that woman Nachmir saved a bunch of my men in the eastern quarter of the city, but…"

"I understand," Ilfa said reassuringly. "Lucretia is the worst that my kind has to offer, and would make for a…poor first impression. We will simply stay out in the forest to the west, if that is acceptable?"

"The forest?" Gerard stated, sounding confused. "I'm sure one of the local villages would take you, there's no need to do that."

"I doubt Lucretia's cruelty was limited simply to Castle Virion," Ilfa said, and Gerard nodded grimly. "If the citizens here are unwilling to house us, then I doubt your villagers are either. We will not impose ourselves where we are not welcome; my kind is in tune with nature. In truth a forest may be more comfortable to us than a stone castle or a village. Myself, my adviser, and my General," she stated, gesturing to Cirith, "will have to visit frequently for official reasons, but otherwise we will happily reside within the forest."

"Well, if that's what you want," Gerard said with a shrug. "It's fine by me. Only thing we go in the forest for is game or lumber. It's all yours. And I'll keep the boys off your case about coming to meetings."

"Thank you very much," Ilfa said with a smile. Morene looked significantly less happy with the arrangements; but then again, she wasn't a Dark Elf. _I doubt she cares for trees,_ Robin thought in amusement as she grimaced.

"Does anyone else have questions, comments, concerns, or gripes?" Robin asked. A few people laughed at the last bit, but nobody raised any more concerns. "Alright. Generals, see about getting our soldiers settled into the city for the winter. We are _not_ to impose ourselves on the locals where we're not wanted, but any space they can grant would be appreciated," he said, looking to Gerard pleadingly.

"It's the least we could do," Gerard said with a smile. "You did come save our hides after all. I'm just a bit embarrassed we can't do the same for Queen Ilfa. I'm leery of 'em myself, but everyone deserves a fair shot, as far as I'm concerned."

"It is fine, General," Ilfa responded warmly. "We must prove ourselves worthy of trust before being trusted. It is the way of all civilization."

"Thank you, General," Robin said with a smile. "General Lennart, I want a plan to set up a defensive perimeter along the border. Walhart might get antsy and decide to force his men to march during the winter; I want us prepared in case he does. After that, your primary mission is to ensure that the Rosannean Army is updated on our formations, tactics, commands, and the operation of gunpowder weapons." Gerard looked interested in that last bit. "I want our units to be seamlessly integrated by the time we move out in the spring."

"By your order, Grandmaster," Walter said with a salute.

"Virion, if your people need anything from us, be it supplies or assistance with rebuilding what little we can in the snow, let us know immediately. We're not going to be poor guests, after all."

"I would never zink such a zing of you," Virion said with a grin, bowing with a flourish. "I will see what we require and speak with you later."

Robin nodded and turned to Morgan. "Morgan, I want you to draw up a plan for the defense of Castle Virion itself," he stated. She turned white immediately. "Your plan worked out perfectly today, and you were prepared for just about anything to go wrong. I'm damn impressed, and even more proud. I want to see what you can do when your task is bigger than an infiltration or strike operation." Morgan nodded shakily, giving the most confident smile she could muster. "Don't worry, sweetheart," Robin said more softly, hugging her briefly. "I know you can handle it. I wouldn't give you the task otherwise."

"I-I know, Dad," Morgan replied, before pulling back and smiling. "You can count on me!"

"I always can, oh love of my life," Robin said warmly. He turned back to where most of the council was rolling their eyes at him. "You all have your regular duties to attend to. Come find me if you need anything. Dismissed."

000

Robin sighed as he pushed his quill and parchment away from him, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion for the nth time since this campaign had begun. But it wasn't work keeping him up this time. He had started keeping a journal back when he joined the Shepherds, as a way to potentially regain his memories if he'd lost them again. His workload, however, had kept him from updating it since they'd first arrived at Port Ferox to defend the town, but now that they had something resembling a break for the foreseeable future, he'd just finished updating it. He'd also skimmed through his previous entries and marveled at how much had happened to him in less than three years. He'd gone from an amnesiac napping in a field to the Grandmaster of an alliance that stretched across worlds. It seemed almost surreal. _A lot can change in a couple of years,_ he mused.

"Robin?" Cherche's voice said from the open door to his room in Castle Virion. Virion had absolutely insisted he be given the best accommodations available, and so he found himself in one of the royal guest suites. It was very well furnished, and the bed looked extremely comfortable, but the sheer expense that had to have gone into the furnishings boggled his mind.

"Yeah, Cherche?" Robin asked, turning fully in his seat to look at her with a smile on his face. Cherche had made a habit of checking up on him. It was…nice to know that she thought of him.

"What are you still doing awake?" she asked concernedly. "It's nearly midnight. You aren't working, are you?" she finished in a stern tone.

"Just filling out my journal," he said, picking up the book and waving it. "Gotta keep some kind of record, in case I lose my memories again."

"How studious of you," Cherche said with a smile. "That level of forward planning doesn't surprise me, coming from you…what is that on your hand?" she asked curiously.

Robin paled when he realized that he wasn't wearing his gloves, and the Brand of the Defile on his hand was bared for all to see. "Uh…yeah, this is…well," he held his hand up nervously. He could tell Cherche was surprised by the sight. "Let's just say I'm fairly certain what my occupation was before I lost my memories and joined the Shepherds," Robin said weakly.

"I see," Cherche said contemplatively, occasionally shooting his hand a nervous glance. "I had always wondered why you constantly wore those gloves…"

"Yeah, it's not something I'm proud of," Robin sighed. "I don't know what possessed me in my old life to join that cult of lunatics, but I can assure you that I'm not with them now."

"Peace, Robin," Cherche said soothingly, walking over to him and pulling up the second chair in the room to sit beside him. "I will not judge you. Prior to the Conqueror, Valm was famous for people being free to choose what they believe."

"Freedom of choice doesn't mean freedom from consequence," Robin stated bluntly. "I know the Grimleal aren't popular, and it's not hard to see why. Practically every devout member I've met is either insane, sadistic, obsessed with power, or downright evil. Hells, they worship a dragon that wants to destroy the world. A lot of people aren't as understanding as the Shepherds are when they see this mark. Hence, the gloves," he said, pointing to where he'd set them on the desk.

Cherche reached over and gently took his hand then, tracing her fingers over the six "eyes" of the brand. Her touch was like a hot brand to his hand, yet he didn't want to move it. "Well, damn them," Cherche stated bluntly, taking Robin aback. "You're a wonderful man, Robin, and formerly associating with a cult means nothing to me. It should not mean anything to anyone else either; nobody condemns Tharja or Henry, and they're open members."

"Former members," Robin corrected. "Both of them got declarations of anathema for aiding the Exalted Line. And that's why I don't make my probable past well known; I serve right next to Chrom. The people of Ylisse are ardent supporters of Naga, considering the role she's played in their history, and the last thing I need to be doing is undermining him just because my hand gets a little sweaty sometimes."

"It should not matter," Cherche said vehemently, her grip on his hand tightening as she scowled. _Why is she getting so worked up over this?_ Robin thought in surprise. "Your past does not define you, and you have risked more for Ylisse than any of your naysayers! And should anyone say something negative about you in front of me…well, Minerva will have herself a snack." Robin laughed at that. "You should not feel pressured to wear those gloves. You are far, far more than a simple tattoo. My own mother is a priestess of Naga and I have paid homage my entire life, yet I am not particularly bothered by it, such is your character. Neither is my mother; she was singing your praises earlier." _Well, nice to see I made a good impression,_ Robin thought dryly. "I like you just the way you are, and there is no reason anybody else shouldn't."

"Geez, Cherche, calm down," Robin laughed. _She's cute when she scowls like that._ Cherche gave him her "disarming smile of death", as he'd come to think of it, and Robin conveniently remembered _now_ that Chrom had repeatedly given anecdotes about why one should never tell an angry woman to "calm down". He had even witnessed one; the image of a very pregnant, very angry Sumia chasing a panicked Chrom through the Throne Room with a lance in hand flashed briefly through his mind. He didn't want to live out his own version of that here. "I'm flattered, really," Robin hastily said. He thought about extolling about the warm feeling in his chest when he heard her speak so highly of him, but… _nah, I don't want to make her uncomfortable._ "But you don't need to get this upset on my account. I sure don't. There's no need to be feeding people to Minerva just because they'd rather jump to conclusions than get to know me. Hells, the only reason I worry about it at all is because of the trouble it could cause Chrom."

"Always thinking of your friends first," Cherche laughed, squeezing his hand affectionately. "One of the many reasons I like you so much," she added softly. "No one could ask for a better friend."

 _Does she mean-no, stop jumping to conclusions._ "You're a good friend yourself, Cherche," Robin said warmly. He thought he saw a briefest flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but it passed far too quickly for Robin to do more than chock it up as a trick of the waning candlelight. "And thanks for being so concerned about me. Don't think I don't notice all of the little things you do for me," he said. Cherche looked at him in surprise. "I know you file down Dean's horns for me, I know you feed him when I forget, I know that back in Valm Harbor you even went and hunted a bear to make jerky for him. I know you go out before we get to work every morning and ensure everyone's filed their paperwork just in case somebody forgot, so I don't have to go track them down myself when I need it. I know you've been training Morgan in your family's fighting style. You're every bit as attentive and thorough as Cordelia when it comes to helping me, more so actually." Cherche blushed and looked away. "I don't thank you enough, but I truly am grateful for everything you do."

"It is the least I can do, for all that you've done for me," Cherche said modestly, before relinquishing his hand and standing up. "The hour grows late, and while we will not be marching for a while, there is still much work to do. Get some sleep, Robin."

"I will," Robin promised. "Good night, Cherche."

"Good night, Robin," Cherche said warmly, before bowing politely and exiting the room.

Robin ruminated warmly on what Cherche had said as he slipped out of his coat and into his nightclothes. _She keeps giving me reasons to like her more,_ he thought with a bit of amusement as he climbed into bed. _I honestly didn't know she felt that strongly about things like that though…or is it just because of me? Does she love me back?_ Robin brought himself to a halt at that last thought. _That was a…peculiar choice of words._ " _Love me back?"_ he repeated to himself. It didn't take long for him to realize why he'd thought that. _I…I love her,_ he realized, feeling like somebody had shined a light into his mind. It was all there. All of the evidence, all of the events that led up to it, all of the raw emotions he felt over it. Maybe it was being distracted with work, or worrying over Morgan, or something, but…well, he just hadn't realized it before. Even with this newfound revelation, he couldn't pinpoint exactly _when_ it started, but the truth was there. _I…I love Cherche,_ he repeated. _Well…that's a development,_ he thought numbly as he laid down. He noted that his hand felt a bit cold now, but he didn't get out of bed to put his gloves back on.

 **AN:**

 **Since armies don't like marching in the winter for obvious reasons, and I snafu'd by writing the timeline as the early autumn when they left (I'm certainly not going back and fixing the entire story to correct it, because the timeline for the Plegian Arc sets the timeline for the Peace Arc, which sets the timeline for the Valm Arc), they spend winter in the newly liberated Rosanne! And what better way to spend a winter in a war camp than by preparing for the future (in more ways than one)? Several chapters of fluff inbound.**


	91. Chapter 91

**Chapter 91**

 **Winning Affections**

"So, when are you gonna ask Mom out?" Morgan asked blithely as she and her dad ate breakfast in Virion's dining room a week into their stay in Castle Virion. His reaction was priceless, and exactly what Morgan had hoped to see; her dad immediately started choking on his pancakes. She laughed cruelly as her father repeatedly thumped his chest to force the food down.

"Morgan!" he shouted hoarsely. "I thought I told you to quit doing that!"

"I'll stop when you just pony up and ask Mom out," Morgan said with a cheeky grin.

"Did you remember something?" he asked after a moment, sounding hopeful. _He keeps bringing everything back to this,_ she thought with a bit of amusement, but mostly irritation.

"While I'm tempted to lie and say yes because it would get the ball rolling faster," Morgan replied, "you always see through my deceptions when we play strategy, so I'm just gonna be honest and say 'no'."

Robin scowled. "Morgan-"

"No, Dad," Morgan interrupted, pointing her fork at him angrily. "You're being dumb."

"Finally hitting the rebellious teenager stage?" Robin asked dryly.

"No, I'm just tired of you using me as an excuse to be a chicken," Morgan sniped.

"I…what!?" Robin asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you heard me," she said hotly. "I'm tired of watching you pine over Mom, only to look at me and bottle it all up. You like her, even Vaike's catching onto it by now so you just _know_ how obvious it is, but you keep holding onto some nonsense about 'well maybe she's not Morgan's real mother'," she said in the most mocking, uncannily accurate imitation of her dad she could forward, causing him to scowl again. "Then you just don't do anything. It's all a load of wyvern dung. Dad, I don't care."

"You…you what?" Robin asked, confused. "You don't care about what?"

"If Cherche's my 'real' mother or not," Morgan explained. "I just don't. Yeah, sure, maybe by some miracle you fell for someone else in my future who actually puts up with your denseness. I doubt it. But even if it was true, I just don't care, and I doubt the unborn present-me would care, and who would know better than me what I would think?" She had to restrain a laugh at her dad's expression; he always did have trouble with the time travel stuff. "All I know for sure is that Cherche makes you happy, she's one of the few people in this timeline that's gone out of her way to make me feel welcome, and I haven't magically blinked out of existence yet, so you're not gonna lose me by going for it. Maybe she's not my 'real' mother, but she's been pretty motherly to me and I love her, so I'm calling her 'Mom' until you find this supposed 'true' mother of mine. Hells, I'm probably gonna keep calling her 'Mom' after that. So stop being a big, fat chicken and _just do it_ ," she said emphatically, pounding the table with her fist with each word, before grinning. "Besides, I'm going to lose my mind if I keep having to deal with trying to not see you sneaking peeks at her bu-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Robin shouted in exasperation, causing Morgan to laugh. "I just…you're everything to me, Morgan," Robin said. "I just want to do what's right for you."

"Well, I'm telling you what's right for me," Morgan said succinctly. "I'm losing my sanity, waiting for you to figure out what you're doing. At this rate, I'll never be born, no matter who my mother is! So please, for the love of any and all possible deities, just ask her out already!"

"…Fine," Robin grumbled, and Morgan cheered. "You're way too enthusiastic about this."

"How many kids get to say they had a hand in getting their parents together?" Morgan countered, and Robin shrugged in defeat. "Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go!"

"W-what?" Robin stuttered. "Right now!?"

"Uh, yeah!" Morgan retorted. "Strike while the iron is hot! You know what? I'll save you the trouble and go bring her here."

"Morgan, you can't rush these things-Morgan!" Robin shouted in panic and a bit of anger as Morgan jumped out of her seat and bolted out the door, laughing like a maniac. His sword caught on the table as he stood up in his haste to chase after her, and he fell flat on his face. "MORGAN!"

000

"Ah, so the wyverns of this world breathe fire?" Thomas asked with feigned interest. He knew all he needed to know about wyverns in this world, and then some. He'd seen more than his share of them, mostly trying to kill him, but some belonging to his friends. But Morgan had asked him to distract Cherche, for some reason, and he knew Cherche loved her mount more than just about anything else, and so there was no better subject to keep her occupied. They'd been talking for twenty minutes now, easily, and Cherche showed absolutely no signs of wishing to terminate the conversation any time soon. "The black wyverns of Hexter breathe noxious gases, you see, that corrode armor and melt flesh. Though the gas is flammable, they do not breathe fire themselves."

"Oh my," Cherche said in surprise. "They sound positively adorable!"

"They sound…adorable?" Thomas asked, now uneasy. _What sort of woman thinks such things adorable!?_

"Why, yes!" Cherche said with a genuine smile. _Good Lord, she's mad…_ "I simply must meet one now! No one could replace my dear Minerva, of course, but I am sure she would love a new Bersian friend from her own sister race!"

"Well, we'll undoubtedly have the opportunity to see them," Thomas said grimly. "They're the primary aerial fighters of Hexter, you see, and…is that Morgan?" he asked aloud as nearly maddened laughter began echoing around the corner, farther down the hall. _What mischief is she up to now?_

"It certainly sounds like it," Cherche said with amusement. "Last I knew, she was eating breakfast with her father. She likely tried playing some trick on him. She sounds like she's succeeded for once; he normally sees through her ploys. For instance, back in Port Ferox, she had dug a pitfall trap…"

Thomas, however, had widened his eyes in realization. Morgan had told him her thoughts regarding her father and Cherche last night. She had asked him to distract Cherche. Now she was laughing madly, quite obviously coming their way, and he could hear Robin shouting at her angrily. _She's not really trying to…is she mad!?_

Morgan burst around the corner then, clearly out of breath but grinning like a lunatic. Before either Thomas or Cherche could respond, she beckoned them closer wordlessly, even as her father's irate voice became louder. Thomas reluctantly moved closer, and Cherche matched his movements.

"Morgan, if you don't stop this instant, I swear to any and all possible gods that I will end you! I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!" Robin's clear voice could be heard along with the sound of rapid footfalls. Just as the edge of Robin's coat sleeve peeked around the corner, Morgan instantly grabbed it and used her father's forward momentum to throw him.

Right into Cherche.

Even as Thomas' jaw dropped in utter shock at the ridiculousness of what she had just done while Robin and Cherche tumbled across the floor in a tangled mess of limbs, Morgan seized hold of his tunic sleeve and began pulling him away from the crash site. She shot an ice spell over her shoulder, and a huge pillar of ice shot up from the floor, completely blocking off the hallway behind her father.

"Have you lost your senses!?" Thomas shouted as she dragged him along. She practically threw him around the corner like she did her father moments ago, but stopped and peeked back around it once she'd rounded it herself.

"Shh!" Morgan whispered. "I want to hear this!"

"Morgan!" Thomas pleaded, though he lowered his voice. "This is…indecent!"

" _Shhhhhhh!_ " she hissed. It was then that he heard Robin start to speak. Despite himself, he snapped his mouth shut and listened.

"Oh, gods, Cherche, I'm so sorry!" Robin was saying hurriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Perhaps a bruise or two, but yes, I'm fine," Cherche responded, clearly a bit dazed. Thomas hated himself as he inched closer to the corner and peeked around it. "What was all that about?"

"Morgan's just being Morgan," Robin said evasively. He could practically hear Morgan's scowl. "I'm really sorry about that. I'm…I'm a bit embarrassed now, I'll take my leave and…" his voice dropped off and he saw the wall of ice that sealed off the hallway. "…this isn't a coincidence," he suddenly said. Thomas began to panic, and it only amplified as Robin spoke again. "Hey, Cherche, how long have you been talking to Thomas just now?"

"Er…perhaps twenty minutes or so?" Cherche responded in confusion.

"I'm feeding him to Dean," Robin snarled instantly. Thomas turned white. "Hey, can I borrow Minerva?"

"Minerva? What for?" Cherche responded, obviously completely befuddled.

"Because I know Dean won't eat Morgan, but somebody has to," Robin replied in an unsettlingly nonchalant manner. Thomas felt ice in his stomach; Robin was clearly quite upset. _Morgan, you seem to have made a tactical misstep._

"I am not feeding our daughter to Minerva!" Cherche shouted furiously. Thomas' jaw dropped. Morgan gasped in surprise. Robin's face was an even more extreme version of Thomas' right now. Cherche clapped her hands over her mouth in shock.

"You…what did you just say?" Robin asked in a numb voice.

"N-nothing!" Cherche squeaked. "I spoke without thinking; you must forgive me. I think I will take my leave and-" Robin's hand shot out and gently grabbed her arm as she went to leave, and she froze in his grip.

"Repeat what you just said," Robin reiterated in a disbelieving voice.

"I said that I wouldn't feed Morgan to Minerva," Cherche replied hastily, not looking at him.

"That wasn't what you said," Robin immediately pointed out, a befuddled expression on his face. "What did you just say, word for word?"

"I…I said…I said that I wouldn't feed…our…daughter to Minerva," Cherche responded embarrassedly, refusing to meet his stare.

"Oh, so I'm not insane," Robin tried to reply lightly, but it sounded more strained than anything. "Why would you say…that?" Robin finished lamely.

"…Because I think of her as my daughter," Cherche said quietly. "I know it sounds terribly presumptive, and that I have no right to claim such a thing, but…well, I can't help it," she said with a helpless smile and a shrug. "I care so very deeply for her. At first I looked out for her because she was the daughter of the man who'd done so much for me, and I felt it was the best way I could repay your kindness, but…well, I've grown rather attached," she laughed hollowly. "I'm terribly sorry, Robin, I didn't mean-"

"Want to know what Morgan and I were just discussing?" Robin interrupted.

"…What were you discussing?" Cherche responded hesitantly.

"How she thinks of you as her mother," Robin responded with a small smile. Cherche's eyes widened in surprise. "There was also some mouthing off, and she's in _so_ much trouble for it when I get my hands on her, but…she thinks of you as her mother," Robin restated. "She's so fond of you she told me that…she didn't even care if you were her 'real' mother or not. That she'd call you 'Mom' even if we found her 'true' mother."

"I seem to have made a grave error," Cherche said worriedly. "This is awful of me. I…I may have driven a wedge between her and her real mother…"

"No, you haven't," Robin stated quietly. "We've already found her. Morgan knows exactly who her mother is."

"Oh my gods he's actually doing it," Morgan uttered in shock.

"What? You have? That's…that's great!" Cherche said in an obviously strained voice. "I am… I am very happy for you both, Robin. Truly, I am. Who…who is she?"

Cherche turned red as Robin reached up and put his hand on her cheek. "She's a kind, beautiful woman who's done her damnedest to make Morgan feel loved. A woman who's been looking out for me since the day I met her. A woman who's been on my mind a lot in recent days. A woman who's been a greater friend than I could possibly deserve, who's stood up for me and stood by me the entire time I've known her. I've tried to keep my distance emotionally for the sake of the war, tried to be rational and logical about the situation like a good tactician should, to keep all avenues open for investigation for Morgan's sake, but…well, at this point, I couldn't imagine being with anyone else."

"She sounds wonderful, by your account," Cherche responded diplomatically, though she was now a deep shade of red and couldn't meet his eyes. "Might you tell me her name?"

Robin didn't hesitate. "Her name is Cherche DuGalle," Robin stated with a soft smile, and Cherche's eyes widened in shock. Robin then reached into the pocket of his coat, and Morgan and Thomas both let out huge gasps as he pulled a small box out. "And I've been wondering if she would be my wife?" he said as he dropped to one knee, opening the box to reveal a ring. It was a shining, quarter-inch wide band of silver, with a small diamond on it. A pair of silver wings, styled after a wyvern, encircled the gem. Patterns resembling fire were engraved into the surface of the band.

"He's been planning this!?" Morgan whisper-shouted in surprise.

Cherche, for her part, was simply staring at Robin with her mouth slightly agape. As he went to speak, worry starting to show on his face, she reached her hand forward. "I accept," she said hurriedly, a single tear of joy running down her face. "I _gladly_ accept." Robin quickly formed a face-splitting grin as he tentatively slid the ring onto her finger; a perfect fit.

Thomas seized the back of Morgan's collar and pulled her back around the corner, however, as they surged toward each other.

"Ack!" she shouted as the collar of her shirt jerked into her throat. "Thomas, why!?" she whisper-shouted angrily as she turned to face him. "We just missed the best part!"

"Your father deserves a bit of privacy in this tender moment," Thomas said with a smirk. "You can also consider it payback for using me in your mad schemes."

"As Dad always says, 'it's only mad if it doesn't work'," Morgan shot back with a smile. She turned to look around the corner again, but Thomas seized her by both shoulders and began dragging her away. "Aww, you're no fun," she huffed. Thomas chuckled as he pulled her away.

000

Robin couldn't help but grin like an idiot as he finally pulled away from Cherche. How long had they kissed? Seconds? Years? Who knew? One thing was for certain though: he'd definitely never kissed a woman before losing his memories, because there was no forgetting _that_ feeling. He smiled wider as Cherche beamed at him, and he couldn't help but pull her into an embrace. Even though the general idea of it was the same as the other couple of hugs they'd shared before, this one feltdifferent. It _was_ different, in the best possible way.

After a moment, Cherche gave a brief, quiet laugh, causing Robin to look down at her pink hair.

"What is it?" Robin asked quietly.

"It's just…it's funny," Cherche said, giving another quiet giggle. "Being close like this just feels…right. Like it was always meant to be."

"Normally not a big believer in fate," Robin said, "but if it does exist, then I'm glad I was fated to be with you. No man could be luckier."

"Flatterer," Cherche said playfully, and Robin laughed, hugging Cherche tighter briefly.

"So, shall we go tell the others?" Robin said with a grin, though it faded somewhat as Cherche pulled away. _No, come back,_ he thought mournfully.

"Yes we shall…but first we must inform my parents," Cherche said nervously. Robin turned pale; his brain decided that _now_ was the time to remind him that Gerard had sworn never to allow him around his daughter. "In truth, according to Rosannean custom, you should have asked permission first…"

"Yeah, Ylissean tradition is the same as well…damn it, even Plegia's the same way," Robin thought, a bit panicked now. "Oh gods, this is what I get for listening to Morgan! I'm going to die!"

"Hush, love," Cherche said soothingly, gently placing her fingers over his lips. Robin immediately decided he enjoyed it when Cherche called him "love". "I am sure they will understand."

"Yeah, your mother maybe," Robin muttered. "Your dad? Not so much. I mean, when he found out I was friends with Virion, he swore he'd never let you around me."

"He swore not to let any of the young acolytes my mother worked with around me either, and they're sworn to vows of celibacy," Cherche said, rolling her eyes. "It is nothing personal, love; it's just my father's way."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Robin muttered hopelessly, causing Cherche to roll her eyes again. "My last wishes are for you and Morgan to get everything I own, and to be cremated by Dean. You know, after your dad kills me."

"You're always making jests," Cherche laughed, pushing him lightly in the chest, before smiling softly. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

"Well, I could start listing off the things I love about you, but we'd be here all day," Robin replied instantly. "Actually, why don't I start? I just told you my feelings, and I'd like to enjoy some time with you before your father chops my head off."

Cherche just laughed before grabbing his hand and pulling him after her as she began walking down the hall, a spring in her step. "You're far too melodramatic sometimes," she giggled. "You're not wearing your gloves?" she asked, noticing that Robin's hands were bare for once.

"I took what you said to heart," Robin replied softly. "It obviously meant a lot to you, and…well, that's also the moment I realized I loved you," he admitted with a nervous laugh.

Cherche smiled widely at that. "I'm glad to hear it," Cherche said. "And should anyone say something about my fiancé, they will answer to Minerva and I," she said with that disarming smile Robin's mind had long since associated with mortal danger.

"Isn't it normally the man who protects the woman?" Robin asked dryly, even as he rolled the word "fiancé" over in his mind. He liked it. It was all kinds of surreal; he had to remind himself that it had indeed happened, and _holy crap I'm getting married…if I survive the next hour._

"You should know by now that I'm more than capable of protecting myself," Cherche said with an amused smirk as she led him toward the war room.

"Doesn't stop me from wanting to protect you," Robin instantly countered, before they stopped outside the door and he realized what lay on the other side. There was always a command meeting after breakfast, though these days it was mostly just going over day to day operations instead of battle plans, but he knew everyone would be there. Including the one man he feared in this world above all else. Above Regnier, above Walhart, above Validar, perhaps even above the Fell Dragon itself.

"About time you showed up boy," the man in question barked as Cherche opened the door and gently pulled him in. "We've been waiting for you to get this damn meeting started. Too many damn meetings! I knew I should never have accepted the job…"

Robin, on his part, was panicking, even as the other attendees looked at him expectantly. _How do I handle this!? Er…rip it off like a bandage?_ "Mister DuGalle, I asked Cherche to marry me," he stated in a blunt, shellshocked tone. Cherise, who stood next to her husband, gasped in shock before smiling widely, while Gerard immediately scowled as deep as his wife's smile was wide. The other members simply looked at him with a variety of expressions and gave a variety of noises in response. He was too busy panicking at Gerard's angry expression, however, to properly note them. _Uh…tactical misstep. Retreat!_

"Cherise, sword," Gerard said simply, holding out his hand. _I knew he was gonna kill me!_

"Oh, honestly Gerard," Cherise scoffed, moving Gerard's sword, which he'd placed on the table, out of his reach.

"Sword," he repeated shortly, not turning his vision away from the now visibly panicking tactician.

"Father," Cherche groaned in exasperation. "Don't be unreasonable."

"Boy," Gerard said shortly, even as he continued holding his hand out to his wife, who was rolling her eyes now. Robin paled at being addressed. "What is a father's responsibility to his daughter?"

Robin was thrown off by the question. "Er…well, I suppose, beyond loving them, that their primary responsibility is to protect them?" Robin answered uncertainly.

"Good answer," Gerard said shortly, before turning to his wife and wordlessly shaking his hand. Sighing in exasperation, she handed Gerard his sword, much to Robin's terror. "Outside, now."

"Gerard, zis is not necessary-" Virion started

"Can it, Ruffles," Gerard said shortly as he strode around the table. "Move, boy," he said, leveling the sword at Robin. Robin hastily exited the room. Gerard turned to the others. "Cherise, Cherche, stay here. We'll be back in a minute…maybe with him missing a few pieces." Cherise just rolled her eyes again, while Cherche nodded very reluctantly, shooting Robin a worried look.

"Try not to maim our tactician," Chrom stated, amusement playing across his features. _You will pay for this betrayal,_ Robin swore. "Well, shall we continue?" Chrom asked lightly right before the door closed. _You will pay dearly._

Gerard led Robin not-quite at sword point to one of the castle's gardens; it was a small courtyard inside of the castle itself, though it was covered in snow from the recent snowfall, and the variety of beautiful flowers and ferns were well buried in it. _Well, at least I'll die in a beautiful spot,_ Robin thought dryly.

"Draw steel, boy," Gerard said shortly as he strode a few paces away.

"Do we really have to do this?" Robin asked pleadingly, though he drew his sword anyway, the jagged blade sparking erratically every couple of seconds.

"Like you said back there, a father's job is to protect his daughter," Gerard stated. "When they get married, however, that job gets passed along to the husband. While no decent father ever stops trying to protect their daughter, the majority of the job is on the husband." He swung his sword slowly a few times, loosening up his muscles. "The only rule I've ever given Cherche when it came to men: anyone who wants her has to be stronger than me."

"…Fair enough rule," Robin conceded begrudgingly. "But you do realize that physical combat isn't necessarily any particular man's strong suit, correct? And that a clever mind can protect just as well as a strong body?"

"I've no doubts to your intellect," Gerard responded. "You don't get put in charge of multiple armies by being an idiot, especially if you're lowborn as young as you are, and your performance when we drove the Empire out speaks for itself. But sometimes you can't think your way out of a situation. Sometimes it just comes down to two pieces of steel," he finished, holding his sword in a low guard. "You win, you got my permission. You lose, you leave my daughter alone."

"That's a bit unfair to her, isn't it?" Robin asked, even as he settled into his own stance. "To break off an engagement simply because a man couldn't beat you in a duel?"

"You aren't the first boy to come knocking," Gerard stated. "You aren't the first boy Cherche's liked. Granted, she seems particularly fond of you, far more than any of the others, but that matters less to me than her safety. If a man can't beat a washed up ol' merc like me, then there's no way in hells that they're strong enough to do a better job of protecting her than me. She can hate me for it, but she'll be safe, and that's what matters to me. If a man can't protect her, they don't deserve her," he finished bluntly.

"And why are we using actual swords?" Robin asked. "We've got plenty of practice weapons in our convoy that we could go get."

"Any idiot can swing a stick around," Gerard scoffed. "It takes real skill to use a sharp blade for sparring without serious injury. You don't have to worry about your life; I'm just looking to pummel you into paste, not kill you." _Well, that's comforting,_ Robin thought dryly. "And you don't have to worry about mine; I've been stabbed and cut plenty of times before."

"What are the rules?" Robin asked.

"There are none, except first to yield loses," Gerard answered.

This caused Robin to smile. "Perfect," he stated. Before Gerard could question him, he cast a Wind spell behind him at the ground as he leapt forward. The extra push from the spell threw him toward Gerard at a speed the man wasn't expecting, and he barely managed to roll out of the way as Robin slashed downward.

"Hmph. Forgot you were a damned mage," Gerard growled as he circled Robin, now far more wary. "Should have banned magic before…oh well. That's my mistake, not yours, and I'll live by it. Ain't never seen a mage use a spell quite like that before, though."

"It's my own style," Robin stated, before using his Levin Sword to shoot a small bolt of lightning at Gerard. He dove under it towards Robin and sprung up in a vicious uppercut with his blade, forcing Robin to lean back to avoid getting his head split in two. _I thought you weren't trying to kill me!?_ He thought incredulously as he dodged another attempt, this one horizontal. On Gerard's third strike, he channeled a fire spell into his blade and blocked. As Gerard's sword made contact with his, the flame spell burst, blinding and disorienting Gerard. Despite that, he was still able to see Robin's horizontal slash, and leapt backward out of the way.

"Well, that's also new," Gerard chuckled as he patted out a few sections of his beard that had caught fire. "It'll take more than a few flashy moves to beat me though." He leapt forward again, thrusting at Robin with his sword, but Robin parried it and attempted his own thrust. Which was likewise parried, and Robin had to summon a two inch thick, round sheet of ice over his arm to function as a shield to block Gerard's following overhand strike. Robin went a bit pale when the impromptu shield immediately cracked under the force. As Gerard recoiled from hitting the shield, he dispelled the ice magic that held it to his arm, grabbed the edge of it as it fell, and threw it like a discus at Gerard. With Gerard still off balance, it struck him square in the jaw and knocked him over, though the strain finally caused the shield to break into tiny shards as it fell to the cobblestone.

Gerard used his backward momentum to roll and ended up crouching on one knee. "Quick thinking," he complimented, though the annoyed scowl and his quickly swelling jaw obviously betrayed his irritation. "Looks like I'll have to get serious." He stood then and cracked his shoulders, before leaping at Robin nearly as fast as Robin had when he started the duel.

 _Holy crap, where'd he find all this speed!?_ Robin thought in panic as Gerard unleashed on him with a flurry of strikes, all of which were barely blocked or dodged. _I've got to figure something out quick_ , he thought worriedly as one of his few attempts at a counter attack was met with a ham-sized fist to his jaw, which nearly saw him run through. Then an idea occurred to him, and he smirked as he cast a Wind spell on the ground to his right to throw him to the left.

"This again?" Gerard growled, even as he dashed after Robin. Robin simply jetted out of the way again, a determined expression on his face. "You won't win by just running away, boy," Gerard snapped as he lunged forward again.

"I don't know, old man," Robin said with a cocky grin as he bolted out of reach once more. "I'm young, spry, and magically talented. You called yourself a 'washed up old merc,' but since you're still a damn good fighter, I'm guessing that you retired because you felt like you were getting too old for the work." Gerard harrumphed, but didn't deny it. "So, all I need to do is avoid you until you get tired."

"I'm no scholar, but I know magic isn't infinite," Gerard countered. "You'll get tired yourself."

"Which one will happen first?" Robin asked in a falsely innocent tone of voice. "Come on, old man, I'm waiting," he taunted, beckoning Gerard towards him with his free hand. Gerard scowled, before taking the bait and charging toward him. Robin simply flew out of the way again. It might have looked amusing to the casual observer, watching Robin lead Gerard on a merry chase through the courtyard, jetting out of the way with Wind spells every time Gerard got close. Eventually, though, Robin stopped leading Gerard in a giant circle and bolted into the center of the courtyard.

"I think I need to get out from behind my desk more often," Robin panted, clutching the stitch in his side as Gerard advanced again. He was getting tired as well, though; he was no longer running straight after Robin, but advancing slowly. "Not sure if I have much more of these in me."

"I need to get off my arse more often too," Gerard chuckled, panting tiredly. He lunged at Robin when he was within range, but Robin simply cast an Arcwind spell that nearly threw him into the wall of the courtyard twenty feet away. "Well, now that we're both worn out," Gerard stated amusedly as Robin hunched over in exhaustion, "how about we settle this the old fashioned way?"

"Hmmm….nah," Robin said, a grin coming to his face. Gerard frowned. "Checkmate," he declared confidently, before snapping his fingers. "Rexcalibur!"

Gerard barely had time for his eyes to widen in realization, let alone dodge, as Robin's trap came into play. Several runes flashed on the ground, all but one of them in the perimeter of the giant circle Robin had led him in, and one in the center. Great torrents of magical wind suddenly shot up from the stone, throwing the light snowfall into the air, and Gerard along with it. As Gerard yelped in shock, Robin shot forward with another Arcwind spell just in time to shoulder-check Gerard as he was about to hit the ground. The old mercenary grunted in pain and his sword was thrown from his grip as he went tumbling across the ground, landing face first in the snow. He rolled over surprisingly quickly, but was greeted by the tip of Robin's Levin Sword in his face.

"Yield?" Robin asked tiredly and hopefully.

Gerard scowled sourly, before eventually sighing and nodding. Robin couldn't help but grin as he sheathed his sword and held his hand out to Gerard and pulled him to his feet.

"Well, I can't say that was fair," Gerard huffed, before smiling, "but combat ain't fair, and that's something we both know all too well. Well done…son," Gerard said, holding out his hand to Robin.

"Thanks, Mister DuGalle," Robin said, smiling tiredly. _I…I won. I actually won._

"You're just lucky I forgot you were a mage," he said sourly, beckoning to Robin to follow him as he walked back toward the war room. "Or that this wasn't a real fight."

"If it were a real fight I would have just used one of those Bersian World Ending Doom Spells," Robin chuckled as he followed.

"Yeah, I heard something about that before," Gerard responded. "Apparently you lot made quite the mess of Valm Harbor with them."

They spent the brief trip back to the war room with Robin explaining what exactly had happened in Valm Harbor. Gerard was laughing as they walked into the war room once Robin had explained that Colonel Farber had been caught in the barrage.

"More than the bastard deserved," Gerard chuckled, "but at least his last moments were seeing his forces get utterly annihilated." The pair then turned to the war council members, and Cherise and Cherche, the latter of which was giving her father a hopeful look. "He's a tricky little bastard," Gerard grunted, before sighing. "But a win's a win. You've got my permission."

"Whooo!" Morgan cheered from beside Thomas and Phila as Cherche rushed forward and kissed Robin passionately. "Awww yeeeahh! Nobody beats my dad!"

Upon seeing his daughter, Robin was reminded of how all of this had occurred in the first place. "Oh, hello Morgan," he said in an airy tone, even as a vicious grin surfaced on his face. Morgan immediately turned pale and hid behind Thomas. "Hello, Thomas," he greeted just as politely.

"I will have you know that I was an unwilling participant to this!" Thomas declared immediately, pulling Morgan out from behind him and shoving her forward. The look of utter betrayal on her face made Robin laugh.

"I'm sure you were," Robin said. "She's always getting other people in trouble for her tricks," he added, before turning to Gerard. "When Cherche acted up as a child, how did you punish her?"

Gerard immediately adopted the same vicious grin Robin had. "Oh, I have a few ideas…" he said evilly.

"Mom! Grandma! Help me!" Morgan pleaded.

"Everyone must live by their own actions," Cherise said with a pitying expression on her face.

"While I'm grateful for the outcome," Cherche said as she stood with her arm around Robin's waist, "that was a cruel trick to play on your father. I stand by him."

"This is so not fair!" Morgan cried petulantly as everyone else laughed.

 **AN:**

 **And Robin finally proposes to Cherche! I considered dragging out the romance subplot some more, even as far as the end of the Valm Arc, but I could really find no reason to do so. It would require making up a bunch of bs and I frankly didn't care to put forth that effort. Plus, for something I have planned later, the union being official will help make it more meaningful. I had Morgan being a meddler here for comedic value, obviously.**

 **I'm sure one or two of y'all might take issue with "requiring" Gerard's permission, but French culture held onto that little tradition for quite a while. Hell, most of the world did until the 1900's. As hooah as I am about social progress and whatnot, I'm not gonna ignore one of the most prevalent social conventions in the world for the sake of appealing to readers' sensibilities. I didn't even like doing that with Walter and Phila, but I'd kinda written myself into a corner (they were being openly defiant of tradition and oaths anyway, so having them adhere to it for a man they both disliked would make no sense) and didn't feel like undoing everything.**


	92. Chapter 92

**Chapter 92**

 **Fluff: The Chapter**

"This is so not fair," Morgan grumbled for the nth time as she used a pick to break the ice along the top of the castle's outer wall the following day. She wanted so _desperately_ to just melt the stuff with fire magic, but her dad had had Morene place a "Silence" curse on her that prevented her from using _any_ spellcraft for the next day. Which was a load of wyvern dung.

"Come now Morgan," Thomas chided from a few feet away, a pick of his own in hand. "Labor improves not only the body, but the spirit as well. We are all called by the Lord to have the hearts of servants. Even the Son of God Himself came to earth not to be served, but to serve others, going so far as to give his own life for us sinners. It is an example that deserves emulation, whether or not you place faith in him, no?"

"Does _everything_ go back to religion with you?" Morgan asked in exasperation.

"More or less, yes," Thomas replied unashamedly.

"Doesn't that ever get…well annoying?" Morgan huffed as she continued chipping away at the ice. "Having to frame everything you do in the context of what you believe?"

"Perhaps it might be so for you," Thomas replied cheerily as he also kept swinging at the ice, "but for me, there is no greater pleasure. The Lord has seen me through Hell, quite literally. It would be faithless of me to discount His work in keeping me alive. I gladly serve Him, as He has served me."

"It was _you_ who got _yourself_ through all of that," Morgan countered. "You're a hell of a fighter, Thomas, and one of the strongest-willed people I know."

"My skills in combat are the result of Paladin training, courtesy of the Church that the Son of God founded in His time in the mortal realm," Thomas stated, "and my strength of will is the result of years of keeping faith to God. Where would I be without Him?" Thomas asked.

"More or less the same guy…except maybe not such a stick in the mud," Morgan shot back with a teasing smile.

"If being a 'stick in the mud' is the price to pay for my life, then I will gladly pay it," Thomas said with a smile. "And were it not for my faith, I might not be here, helping you; after all, your father did say I didn't have to help you. But the Lord calls us to accountability, and I played a part in it all, however unwilling," he said, shooting a glare at Morgan, who chuckled sheepishly. "Without my faith, I may have gladly eschewed responsibility. But due to my faith I choose to be here, with you, making this dreary task more bearable for you."

"Or more unbearable, because it's like a never-ending sermon," Morgan sniped teasingly, to which Thomas rolled his eyes. "But thanks, Thomas. You're a real sweetheart beneath that super-serious shell."

"You flatter me, Morgan," Thomas said embarrassedly. Morgan grinned evilly at the blush on his face; he was so easy to fluster. "So, what is the next task after this?" he asked.

"You mean if there _is_ an 'after this', cause my arms are gonna fall off soon," Morgan grumbled. "But…well, Dad and Grandpa said we had to break the ice on the outer and inner walls, then scrub the entire castle, then reorganize the supply depot, then tend to everyone's mounts…Oh gods, we're going to be marching against the Empire by the time we get all of this done!" Morgan cried out. "I knew I should have just taken training under Frederick for the next month!"

"You would regret that even more," Thomas instantly said. "He is as much a taskmaster now as he was in the future; you would be begging to chip the ice on the walls within an hour. Besides, this is a good thing!" Thomas said, straightening up and gesturing widely. "The brave men and women we've pulled from their homes to fight for us patrol this wall daily. Undoubtedly there have been a few who have slipped before, injuring themselves or others. By removing this ice, we make their jobs safer. It also demonstrates to the troops that they are not alone in their struggle; that we stand beside them, even in the most dreary and frankly unpalatable moments. We all grow closer for it!"

Morgan couldn't help but smile; his enthusiasm was infectious. "You're so full of it," she giggled. "You're as miserable as I am."

"Perhaps a little," Thomas admitted, causing Morgan to laugh, "but one must focus on the positive. Finally, brothers," he said loudly, in what Morgan had come to call his "preacher voice", the one he used whenever he quoted his holy texts, "whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Morgan smiled as he continued. "Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God forgives you."

"You're still full of it," Morgan teased, and Thomas chuckled. "I'm glad you're following your own advice, though. I'm glad you're giving your dad a chance. You seem happier these days."

"Yes…well, he's trying, at least," Thomas muttered, his smile fading a bit, and Morgan gave him a concerned look. "I enjoy the time I spend with my father, but sometimes I cannot help but be apprehensive. I keep thinking, 'what if he abandons me again? What if he falls back into his old ways? Is this all true, or merely an act?'" Thomas sighed. "I want to forgive and forget, truly, but…well, it's hard sometimes. I pray to the Lord for the necessary strength daily, but being mortal, sometimes I falter."

"Forgiveness isn't meant to be easy," Morgan said softly. "You just have to keep trying. Your God's apparently answered your prayers this far, and he'll probably continue to do so." To Morgan's surprise and irritation, Thomas actually laughed at that. "I'm being serious, you jerk!" she shouted, throwing one of the broken pieces of ice at him.

"I know that," Thomas chuckled as he dodged the projectile with ease. "It's just that you sounded so much like one of the clergy just now. You may have the Holy Spirit in you yet!"

"I think I'd know if I was being possessed," Morgan instantly deadpanned, knowing exactly what this "Holy Spirit" of his was and how it didn't involve actual possession. Thomas laughed. "But your God's not the only one here for you, you know," she said. "I'm here for you too, any time you need me."

"I know, Morgan," Thomas said with a soft smile. "And your friendship is one of the greatest blessings the Lord has ever bestowed upon me. I cannot be thankful enough for you."

It was Morgan's turn to blush, and Thomas' grin told her that he delighted in putting the shoe on the other foot. "Flatterer," she grumbled, and Thomas laughed. "You've been hanging around Inigo too much."

"I take offense to that!" Thomas shouted indignantly, and Morgan laughed.

"Good, because the last thing I need is someone else constantly asking me out to tea," Morgan chuckled. She was glad _somebody_ from their time wasn't constantly avoiding her, even if he did shoot her odd looks every once in a while. She just wished every other sentence wasn't punctuated by some hollow flattery or an invitation out to tea. _What is that kid's fixation with tea, anyway?_ Morgan wondered.

"Thomas, there you are!" a voice shouted in relief. The last voice Morgan felt like hearing right now. She grimaced as she turned and saw Lucina walking toward them, with Prince Glen in tow. "Your father's been looking for you; he says that he wishes to spend time with you."

Thomas smiled at that briefly, before frowning and sighing. "As much as I would enjoy that, I'm afraid I cannot," Thomas said begrudgingly. "I have promised Morgan my aid, and so shall my aid be given."

"We could help her in your stead, until your return," Lucina offered, shooting a surreptitious glance at Morgan. She scowled in return.

"I'm…not entirely certain that's a good idea," Thomas said hesitantly. Morgan had tried a few more times to wheedle information out of Lucina, and he'd had to calm her down every time she was inevitably rebuffed. She was getting increasingly frustrated, and honestly Thomas didn't blame her.

"I know," Lucina admitted. "And that is partially the reason I volunteered to find you. I wish to speak with her."

"Go away," Morgan instantly snapped.

"Actually, you'll want to hear this, Morgan," Glen stated. Morgan perked up hopefully.

"Well…fine," Morgan huffed. _Is she finally going to tell me about my brother?_ "Go on, Thomas."

"Are you sure, Morgan?" he asked worriedly, glancing between her and Lucina.

"Yep," she replied cheerily. "Besides, you need to spend time with your dad. You've got a lot of catching up to do, still. I don't want to be in the way of that."

"…Alright, then," Thomas said, before walking over to her and whispering, "Leave if you find yourself getting angry, Morgan. I will explain the situation to your father if he gets cross. Don't stick around and say or do something you may regret." He then handed Morgan his pick.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Morgan said confidently. "Go on."

"Farewell, Morgan," Thomas said hesitantly. He walked by Lucina and had a short, hushed conversation with her, before walking away. He shot once last worried glance over his shoulder before he climbed down the stairs.

"Well, this ice isn't going to break itself," Morgan said shortly, thrusting the tool into Lucina's chest. "If you're gonna be here, might as well work."

"Of course, Morgan," Lucina said diplomatically, before handing the pick off to Glen.

"And you're giving this to me…why?" Glen asked.

"Because you need to be put to work as well," Lucina said teasingly. Before Morgan could object to her obvious attempt to shunt off responsibility to Glen, she strode past Morgan and drew Falchion. Without hesitation, she raised it over her head and slammed it against the ice, breaking up a large portion of it.

"Is that not a sacred blade!?" Glen asked incredulously. "That isn't some cheap iron sword, Lucina!"

"Indeed it isn't," Lucina responded as Morgan laughed uproariously at the indignant expression on Glen's face. "I've used it for far more than vanquishing Risen; it has served as a shovel, a wood axe, a pry bar, and even an ice pick before. It cannot be broken or dulled, so it is the ideal tool, no?"

"Oh, so _that's_ why your dad just randomly shoves it into the dirt," Morgan said with a laugh. "Because it can't be broken?" Glen just shook his head and walked up next to Lucina, beginning to hack away at the ice with his own tool.

"Yes," Lucina replied, a bit embarrassedly. "He's broken more than a few practice weapons because of that habit…"

"And castle walls, from what I hear," Morgan chuckled as she swung her pick at the ice once more. "So…what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked pointedly as she started working again.

"Your father and Lady Han have decided upon what route they wish to take when we free the Voice of Naga and go to plead with the dynasts," Lucina began, continuing to smash away at the ice. "And our route will…well, it will take us either very close to or directly through where I believe your brother may be," she finished hesitantly.

"Really!?" Morgan shouted excitedly. "Where is he!? Are we gonna go see him!?"

"Morgan, Thomas told you that things between you and your brother aren't exactly…pleasant, didn't he?" Lucina asked quietly.

"Well…yeah," she said, remembering Thomas' dire warning back on the _Legacy of Berkut_. "That doesn't matter, though. I know we can patch things up, but first we have to find him! So where is he?"

"I…I can't tell you," Lucina responded hesitantly. Even as Morgan's face turned red with anger, Lucina continued. "Yet," she added. Morgan didn't yell, but she was still scowling. "Your brother will not take news of your presence with us well, Morgan. I simply wish to speak with him first, to explain things, before you see him. It will not end well otherwise."

"…Do you promise?" Morgan asked heatedly. "You're not just gonna steer everyone away from him to avoid telling me?"

"I swear on Naga herself," Lucina said seriously, and Morgan reluctantly nodded in acceptance. "Despite what you may think of me, Morgan, I bear you no ill will. You were dear to me when we were children, like a little sister, and your brother was just as close, but…the situation is delicate, to say the least," she said vaguely. "We can't just throw you at each other and expect things to turn out alright. I am not certain he is still there, or will be when we pass through, but if he is, I swear to you that I will do my utmost to see you reunited with him. You are right; you deserve to know. But I'm just afraid that you will charge ahead to see him without us if you knew where he might be, and that you will get hurt."

"…Okay," Morgan said after a long moment of silence. "But if I find out you broke your word, I'm telling my parents about him. Even if he hates my guts, they at least deserve to know him."

"That's perfectly fair," Lucina said with a smile, before it faded. "I'm sorry, Morgan," she said quietly. "I want to tell you, truly, I do, but…"

"It's fine," Morgan said, surprising her. "As long as I know you're _planning_ on telling me…I can live with it," she said with a shrug. "And I don't think you're malicious, I see how much you care about the rest of our friends and I know you're just trying to look out for me, it's just that it's…frustrating. To know you have a brother, but to not know anything about him, and being surrounded by people who know everything about him."

"And your feelings are perfectly valid," Lucina told her. "I don't blame you for being angry."

"Well, while the two of you are as sweet as pure sugar," Glen said dryly from farther ahead of them, having broken up a significant portion of the ice as they stopped to talk, "this ice won't break itself, right Morgan?"

"Right!" Morgan said cheerily. "We better get back to work, or it'll take all week, and snow will fall and freeze it all back up by then. Thanks guys…and thanks, Lucy," Morgan said quietly.

"You're very welcome, Morgan," Lucina responded with a smile, before walking away and helping Glen break up the ice.

Morgan was right behind them, and soon, they were absolutely chewing through the ice. No small amount of it was due to Morgan's newfound enthusiasm. _Sure, I still don't know anything,_ Morgan thought with determination, _but I will soon enough. I'm going to find my brother._

000

Robin couldn't help but smile as the male Shepherds celebrated his engagement at one of the local taverns later that evening, a place called the _Poney Cabré._ The nanosecond he had gathered the Shepherds together and informed them all at once, the men had dragged him off to a tavern, while the women had dragged Cherche off to a completely different tavern. He'd been a little miffed at first, given that he'd _just_ gotten engaged and had hoped to spend time with Cherche, but he had to admit he was having fun. Currently, he was sitting at a table with Virion, Chrom, Frederick, and Walter while the others milled about, though one came up every so often to congratulate him again. His back was starting to hurt from the "pats" on the back Vaike and Gregor kept giving him, but he was frankly too happy to feel such mortal sensations as pain. It might have been the ale though; it was damn good and damn strong. He wasn't drunk _quite_ yet, but it wouldn't take much more.

"To Robin!" Virion declared loudly, holding his glass of wine aloft. "Ze Grandest of Grandmasters!"

"To Robin!" the men cheered, dissolving into an incomprehensible chorus of congratulations once more as they downed their drinks.

"How many times are you guys going to toast me, again?" Robin asked dryly.

"Until we all get too drunk to remember it," Chrom laughed. "We're just happy for you, Robin."

"Ah, not only is ze most Tactical of Tacticians due to be wed," Virion said airily over his wine, "but to a true Rosannean beauty no less!"

"Careful there, Virion," Robin said warningly, though with no real malice to it. "I may have tolerated you leering at my fiancée before, but I'm not going to be so lenient in the future."

"That won't work," Walter said with a chuckle, before looking pointedly at Virion. "You have to wait until he flirts with her. When she tries to gut him, he'll learn his lesson. At least, that's how it went with Phila."

"Ah, yes," Virion said with a weak smile. "Zat was an…interesting experience."

"But Cherche's been threatening to feed him to Minerva for years, and that hasn't dissuaded him," Robin argued.

"Ah, but if I were to be a complete cur and flirt with my best friend's fiancée, I fear zat Cherche's responses henceforth would be quite…vehement," Virion said with a nervous laugh.

"So when are _you_ going to settle down, Virion?" Frederick asked. "Surely you don't plan on being a shameless philanderer forever?"

"Settle down?" Virion asked incredulously. "And deprive all of ze beauties of ze world of my unique charms?"

"Actually, he's already thinking about it," Robin said with a malicious grin. "Do you know a Countess Tara Claive?"

Frederick's eyes went wide. "Really, Virion? I knew of your liaisons with her, but truly?"

Walter simply sighed in exasperation. "I knew something more was going on there," he grumbled. "Now I'm going to lose one of my best vassals."

"I am merely considering it," Virion said, shooting a withering glare at Robin, who grinned back unapologetically. "Though I am not decided yet, I have admittedly given it much thought."

"I for one welcome it," Chrom said with a grin. "It will strengthen relations between Ylisse and Rosanne once the war is over…and it's a welcome bit of character growth for you," he said teasingly.

"Alack and alay, I am wounded," Virion said dramatically, though his grin showed he wasn't really bothered by it.

"Speaking of the political ramifications of marital unions," Frederick interrupted, "word has apparently already gotten out to the men about Robin's engagement. It has been a significant boost to morale. The Rosannean Resistance members especially seem to be cheering your names."

"Well, that's a welcome bit of news," Robin said with a smile. "We can use every bit of good news we can get. Morgan's been wondering how long morale will stay up, once the wave of euphoria from liberating Rosanne passes."

"Speaking of Morgan," Chrom spoke up suddenly, with a grin that Robin recognized as a sign of imminent trouble, "how's she been lately?"

"Uh…well, probably a bit annoyed at all the stuff I'm having her do as penance for almost potentially ruining my friendship with her mother, but she still seems to be happier about Cherche and I getting married than anything. Why?"

"Isn't Thomas helping her with her punishment?" Chrom asked.

"Uh…yeah?" Robin asked, nonplussed as to where Chrom was going with this. "He was part of it, even if he was unwilling. He volunteered. He's got my respect for owning his part in it, at least."

Walter, however, seemed to realize where Chrom was going with this. "Surely you aren't serious, Your Majesty?" Walter asked in shock.

"It's just something Lucina mentioned the other day," Chrom added, grinning at a confused Robin. "About how they're practically inseparable when not working, how Morgan trusts him with everything…" he trailed off with a triumphant grin as Robin's eyes widened in realization.

"Walter, I'm sorry," Robin said in a light tone, even as his face went blank.

"Why is that?" Walter asked, confused.

"Because I'm going to have to kill your son," Robin said as he stood up, his face becoming dark.

Walter simply laughed as Virion and Chrom immediately seized his arms and dragged him back down. "Oh, come now Robin," Walter chortled. "Even Gerard wasn't half as angry as you are. And though it borders on bragging, my son is a fine young man. They would be good together."

"She's my daughter, nobody is good enough for her," Robin stated emphatically. "Morgan is going to be single until she's at least thirty five."

"Oh, come on," Chrom said, rolling his eyes. "You're being unreasonable."

"Of course I'm being unreasonable, it's Morgan we're talking about," Robin argued. "You'd be the same way with Lucina."

"Pfft. Hardly," Chrom said nonchalantly as he picked up his beer.

"Oh yeah?" Robin said, a grin coming to his face. "So when Glen pops the question, you're just going to shake his hand and say congratulations?"

Robin achieved the desired result: Chrom started choking on his beer. "Lucina and…Glen?" he asked hoarsely. "Where did you get that idea!?"

"They have been spending a lot of time together, milord," Frederick pointed out.

"They do seem to be speaking with each other much when off duty," Walter said contemplatively, tapping his chin.

"And he did decline tonights festivities, and I last saw zem in ze courtyard together," Virion added with an evil grin.

"He's nearly a decade older than her!" Chrom said indignantly.

"And sweet Miriel seven years younger than Gregor!" Gregor piped as he walked past, a pint in each hand and a clearly hammered grin on his face. "Is not makink any difference to us, eh?"

"Nope, not happening," Chrom said emphatically, standing up and gripping Falchion's hilt. "Frederick, when the Plegians drop off the first half of the Hironeiden Army, send a messenger to King Gerald informing him of his son's unfortunate, entirely accidental death."

"If I'm not allowed to eviscerate someone, neither are you," Robin said with a grin, seizing Chrom's sleeve as he went to storm off in search of the Hironeiden Prince.

"You have my permission to defend your daughter's honor," Chrom instantly said. Robin thought about it for a moment, before shrugging and standing up.

"We're declaring war on Hironeiden!" Robin declared loudly. The others simply looked at them, saw Walter rolling his eyes, and just laughed.

"I'd certainly hope not," a light voice said behind them, before a pair of armored hands grabbed each of their shoulders and forced them back into their seats. They both looked up sheepishly at Kendal. "I've grown rather fond of you all, and I'd hate to have to kill you."

"They're just upset that their daughters are making friends who happen to be men," Walter chortled.

"I _will_ kill him," Robin and Chrom said simultaneously. This provoked laughter from the others.

"No you won't," Kendal chortled as he sat down next to Walter. "You're going to hem and haw about it but ultimately accept it, because your daughters' happiness matters more to you than your pride." Robin and Chrom both deflated at that and muttered their own reluctant acknowledgments. "I for one find it pleasant to see love blossom, even in the middle of a war. It warms this stone heart of mine," Kendal chuckled.

"So, when are you settling down, Kendal?" Walter said with a small grin.

"The day the Lord takes me," Kendal instantly responded, causing the rest of them to laugh. "I'm seventy-four years old, Walter, I'm far too old for such things. I am perfectly content to live vicariously through all of you young people."

"Wow, I think the only person in the entire Army older than you is General Sedgar," Robin said contemplatively. "I still don't know how he's leading troops when he's pushing ninety-two."

"Sheer grit, from what Stahl says," Chrom chuckled. "I remember seeing General Sedgar for the first time as a child. He was already old and grey. Hells, he barely looks any different than he used to. It's hard to imagine he ever looked like Stahl; apparently he's the spitting image of his grandfather."

"Just like Lucina's the spitting image of you," Robin said teasingly. "Why, if she cut her hair and wore your armor, with that old mask of hers on you could barely tell the difference."

"Are you calling my daughter masculine?" Chrom said in a threatening tone, though he was grinning.

"No, I'm calling you feminine," Robin instantly shot back.

"I'll show you who's feminine!" Chrom shouted, diving out of his seat and tackling Robin out of his. The others simply laughed as they began wrestling right there in the middle of the tavern, the owner shaking his head in disapproval the entire time.

 **AN:**

 **Something lighthearted for all of you, with some minor romantic subplot development.**


	93. Chapter 93

**Chapter 93**

 **The Winter Solstice**

Robin smiled as he walked with Cherche through the city a couple months into their stay there. Today was the morning of the Winter Solstice, Cherche's favorite holiday, and apparently quite popular with the locals as well; they had positively bedecked the entire capital with decoration. Enchanted, light-emitting crystals hung from streamers of garland that linked all of the buildings together and beautifully crafted wreaths hung from practically every door. One could scarcely find an area of the city where holiday music could not be heard, whether it be singular bards playing seasonal favorites or small choirs of children singing carols on street corners. The air was festive, and the sight warmed Robin's heart to the point where even he wasn't bothered by the cold. Of course, that could've also been because Cherche had her arms wrapped around him and was quite warm herself in her dark blue, heavy coat, in addition to Robin being wrapped in several layers of clothing. He hated the cold.

"I missed this so much," Cherche said happily as they strolled toward the center of town. "During the year and a half we were resisting the Conqueror's advance into Rosanne, I spent the Winter Solstice on the frontlines, in case the Conqueror were to press forward in the winter. We held our own celebrations, of course, but it just wasn't the same as being here for it."

"I'm glad you could be here this year, at least," Robin said, smiling down at the top of her head as she leaned into him.

Cherche looked up at him, smiling warmly. "I am as well. And it's all thanks to you," she said, pushing herself up and kissing him on the cheek.

"Well, I had some help. About twenty five thousand people, actually," Robin chuckled as she nestled herself back into his side.

"Yes, but it was your plans that saw us this far," Cherche argued, but with no real heat to it. "And it is your plans that will see us through this war."

"Yeah, maybe," Robin said dubiously. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

"You may not have faith in yourself, but the rest of us do," Cherche said. "Do you know where Morgan is?"

"Thomas is volunteering at the temple with your mother and his father, giving food to the poor," Robin said, a frown coming to his face. "Morgan volunteered to go with him."

"Oh, you're not still hung up on that, are you?" Cherche laughed as she noticed Robin's frown. "Morgan insists that there's nothing going on between them. Do you not trust our daughter?"

"No, I don't trust Thomas," Robin instantly retorted.

"He's a fine young man," Cherche argued. "He would almost certainly be forward with his intentions."

"Yes, that's the problem," Robin said darkly. "He's a man. And I'm worried about how 'forward' he will be."

"Oh, honestly," Cherche said, pulling away from Robin and shoving him lightly, an amused grin on her face, "you're beginning to sound like my father."

"Yeah, your father has the right idea," Robin said with a grin, and Cherche laughed while rolling her eyes. "Speaking of, where is my future father-in-law?"

"I believe Papa's addressing the Rosannean Army before he sends them all on leave for the holiday," Cherche said thoughtfully. About a month ago the Rosannean Resistance had been officially "disbanded", and their members had joined the newly-reconstituted Rosannean Army. "He said he'd be helping Maman afterward, if Lord Virion did not require his assistance."

"And do you know where the Archest of Archers is?" Robin asked in amusement.

"Right here, my friends!" Virion said loudly from directly behind them, startling them both. Virion laughed as he rolled out of the way of the punch Robin tried to hit him with, smoothly coming to his feet and brushing the snow off of his fine silver coat.

"You bastard," Robin growled, trying to restrain his own laughter, even as Cherche glared at him.

"I will have you know zat I know exactly who my father is, Naga rest his soul," Virion retorted, before smiling. "Are you enjoying ze city, Robin?"

"Absolutely," Robin replied with a smile. "You know, I kinda thought you two were over-exaggerating how great Rosanne is, but I've really come to like it."

"Ze Archest of Archers would never lie about such a thing!" Virion proclaimed proudly. "Rosanne is ze finest realm in all ze world!"

"While I won't speak to milord's general honesty, I am inclined to agree with his opinion of Rosanne," Cherche said with a smile. "Of course, we may be biased."

"Do you always smile so, when you twist a blade in a fellow's gut?" Virion asked weakly.

"Tactician!" a voice barked, and Robin winced before turning to the speaker. It was Say'ri, wearing a fine, turquoise winter cloak that looked to cost more than Robin's breastplate. "That today is a holiday does not mean you can skip your lessons!"

"Sorry, Say'ri," Robin replied unashamedly, "But my future wife wanted to spend her favorite holiday with me, and I just can't say no to her."

"You can, and you should have," Say'ri retorted, before sighing and relaxing her posture a fraction of an inch. "Fortunately for you, I am not heartless. You may have the day off…but you will have double the lessons tomorrow," she said, narrowing her eyes, daring Robin to argue.

"Sounds good to me!" Robin said. "Thanks, Say'ri, you're the best, a champion of the people." Say'ri just scoffed and walked away, Virion following shortly thereafter. They were hardly around the corner of the street before they heard Say'ri cursing at him, which made Robin and Cherche laugh.

"He'll never learn," Robin said, shaking his head. "How many times does Say'ri have to threaten to 'hand him his own beating heart' before he gets the message?"

"A few thousand more times, I'm afraid," Cherche giggled. "That, or she will actually have to draw steel."

"Am I a bad friend for wanting to watch when she guts him?" Robin asked dryly, causing Cherche to laugh again. "Come on, let's go grab breakfast somewhere. Your pick."

000

Morgan collapsed on top of one of the empty ration boxes, wiping her brow. "Wow, this is intense," she said tiredly as the last of the poor left the Temple of Naga. "Who would have thought just handing out rations would be tiring?"

"It may just be the exhaustion from reorganizing the supply depot talking," Thomas chuckled as he sat down beside her. "I feel perfectly fine."

"You're also a machine," Morgan said bluntly, and Thomas laughed. "Seriously, I don't even think I've seen you break a sweat before!"

"We're not working you too hard, are we?" Cherise asked kindly as she walked over to them.

"Nah, I'm fine Grandma," Morgan said with a bright grin. "Do you guys need help with anything else?"

"Well, aside from preparing the feast this evening, not really," Cherise said with a smile. "Would you like to help with that?"

"Eh, not really," Morgan said sheepishly. "I mean, I'd _like_ to, but I apparently didn't inherit my mother's cooking abilities…"

"Yes, you certainly don't want her help," Thomas said with a grin, even as Morgan elbowed him in the ribcage. "Her cooking is…edible, but not something to look forward to."

"You're such a jerk!" Morgan shouted, shoving Thomas off of the crate and sending him crashing to the floor, though that didn't stop him from laughing.

"You're one to talk, Thomas," Walter chortled from across the room as he helped Libra move some of the empty boxes. "I can cook well enough, and your mother was unrivaled, but…well, we all remember the last time you were put on the cooking roster…" he trailed off with a grin.

"That I am a horrible cook does not make Morgan any better," Thomas stated as his face turned red.

"So let's just say you're both terrible and leave it at that, hmm?" Walter said snidely, chuckling as Thomas grumbled wordlessly. Walter moved a few more boxes, before dusting his hands and standing up straight. "Well, you should all be able to take it from here," he said.

"Oh, are you leaving?" Cherise asked, sounding somewhat disappointed. Despite their differing faiths, they got along rather well.

"I'm afraid so," Walter replied regretfully. "I promised Kendal that I would assist his Paladins in setting up our own religious display for the holidays."

"Oh, do you celebrate the Winter Solstice in your world as well?" Cherise asked interestedly.

"Er, not exactly," Thomas answered in his father's stead. "We celebrate the birth of Amos, the Son of God, a century and a half ago when he was sent to the mortal realm to die for our sins. The celebration is technically three days from now, but there are quite a few sermons and such held in the preceding days. I think I'll come help, Father. It has been years since I've properly observed Amos' Day." Morgan frowned at that. She'd seen the giant cross they'd had forged and the myriad of other decorations; it would take all day to set all of their stuff up!

"Oh, that sounds lovely," Cherise said with a smile. "It's actually quite similar to our own celebration; we celebrate the birth of Tiki, the daughter of Naga. It would be wrong of me to keep you from your promise, though. Do give General Kendal my regards!"

"Hey, mind if I come along?" Morgan said suddenly.

"Not at all, Morgan," Walter replied with a surprised look, "though I did not expect you to be interested in our religious customs."

"Well, Thomas won't shut up about it, and it's piqued my interest," Morgan said nonchalantly. It wasn't a complete lie; she wanted to at least learn about the religion Thomas devoted himself so faithfully to. "Besides, as exhausting as it is, I like helping people. Gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside." That also wasn't a complete lie; she really did enjoy helping out. The look Walter was giving her, the raised eyebrow and the smirk, told her that he easily saw her ulterior motive to spend time with Thomas, however, and she blushed and looked away. Walter probably heard the same dumb rumor her dad did, and that _totally_ wasn't what was going on! _Thomas is just my best friend, that's all,_ she thought irritably. _What, can't a guy and a girl be friends?_

Thomas, at this point, was grinning ear to ear. "Outstanding!" he cried, jumping to his feet and seizing hold of Morgan's arm. "You won't regret this!" he declared happily, even as he pulled her to her feet and began pulling her gently toward the door. "I'll tell you all about Amos' Day while we're on the way there!"

"Y-yeah, sure," Morgan laughed nervously as she was dragged along. _What have I gotten myself into?_ she wondered as Thomas pulled her out of the door to the Temple.

Walter simply chuckled as the door closed. Cherise was smiling fondly.

"Well things seem to be moving fast these days," she laughed. "A couple of months ago, I was worrying about surviving the occupation and seeing my daughter again. Now, I'm not only preparing for my daughter's impending marriage, but apparently my time-travelling granddaughter's as well."

"Perhaps," Walter said contemplatively, cupping his chin in thought, before turning to Cherise with a small smile. "I could certainly do worse for in-laws. Good day, Cherise."

"Good day, Walter," Cherise said cheerily as Walter followed his son and her granddaughter out of the temple. "Now, where did Libra go…Ah, there you are!" she declared upon finding the war monk. "Come, let's get the turkey and ham going! We've much to do before tonight's feast, after all."

000

" _Hark, how all the welkin rings,_

 _Glory to the King of Kings!_

 _Peace on Earth, and mercy mild,_

 _God and sinners reconciled!"_

At some point during their stroll about the city, Robin and Cherche had happened upon what was apparently the Bersians' holiday display. That wasn't terribly surprising; Kendal had already mentioned his Paladins planned on making a holiday display in market square, and here they were, singing their own seasonal songs (almost all of which referenced their "Son of God", Robin noted). What surprised them was to see Morgan singing along (or trying to; she was unfamiliar with the words, so it was more like loud humming) as she helped them put together some kind of display involving a manger and an obviously poor family.

" _Joyful, all ye nations rise!_

 _Join the triumph of the skies!_

 _Universal nature say,_

 _The Son of God is born today!_

 _Hark, how all the welkin rings,_

 _Glory to the King of Kings!"_

"Hey Morgan," Robin shouted over the singing as he and Cherche drew close. "I thought you were handing out food to the poor at the temple?"

"Yeah, but we're done with that. Walter and Thomas told Kendal they'd help," she said, jerking their thumb toward where the three were attempting to haul up a giant, gilded cross nearly as tall as the statue of Naga and her daughter that the Rosanneans had put on the opposite end of the square, "and I volunteered to come along."

"Well, that's very kind of you," Cherche said fondly, hugging Morgan.

"Look out below!" a young sounding, flanged voice shouted from above them. A shadow passed over a group of nearby Paladins, and they scrambled out of the way as the shadow grew larger. A second later an incredibly large pine tree, of all things, crashed to the earth, spraying Robin, Cherche, and Morgan in snow and pine needles.

"Gods, Nowi, what are you doing!?" Robin shouted incredulously as the thousand-year child touched down before transforming back to her humanoid form. "You could have hurt someone!"

"Oh, it's fine!" Nowi giggled. "No harm, no foul!"

"Why do you have an entire pine tree, anyway!?" Robin asked as he and his family brushed the snow off of themselves.

"That would be our doing," a voice called to his left. He turned to see Ilfa, Morene, Cirith, Nachmir, and a male Dark Elf striding toward them. Robin eyed the male with curiosity; he'd never seen one before, especially considering how they were practically one of the Dark Elves' most precious resources, and most had been left behind. He realized that that must have been Elcam, Cirith's husband. Elcam was a full head and a half taller than the women he accompanied and taller than practically anybody else he knew, only Kendal being taller than him, and had the same long, thin features as most of his kind, with a pink skin tone similar to Ilfa's, whereas Nachmir and Cirith had a darker, almost obsidian skin tone. He was fairly relieved to see that Dark Elf men at least dressed modestly, as the man was wearing a fine red tunic beneath his thick black coat. They were all dressed rather warmly for the weather in thick furs, excepting Morene, who wore the same as she always did, except with the curious addition of a red hat with white, fluffy trim. The expression on her face told Robin that she was not wearing it willingly. "I am terribly sorry about that!" Ilfa called sheepishly to the Paladins Nowi had nearly crushed. Most of them just grumbled or shrugged before walking off to finish whatever part of the setup they'd been assigned.

"So… _why_ did you drag an entire tree into the city?" Robin asked amusedly.

"Well…" Ilfa said sheepishly, "when I heard that the Bersian humans were setting up a holiday display alongside Rosanne's, we asked Lord Virion if we might set up our own, and he graciously agreed."

"This is wonderful!" Elcam declared excitedly as he peered around the square. "Despite our differing faiths and origins, we all share this space for the celebration of our respective cultures! This is proof that Queen Ilfa's dream can be made reality!"

"Yes, and I don't believe our kind our welcome here," Cirith observed dryly as several of the locals who'd been watching the proceedings glared at them.

"Oh, forget about them, my beautiful black pearl," Elcam said sweetly. "You've no need for anyone's gaze but mine!"

"You do enough staring already," Cirith deadpanned.

"Ooh, ze Rosannean display is so cute!" Nachmir proclaimed, wandering over and eyeing the large statue of Naga holding an infant. "It could use some more decoration, though…"

"So, again, what's with the tree?" Robin asked. "Why is it important for your holiday celebrations?"

"Dark Elves are a bunch of nature-worshipping hippies," Morene said dryly.

"Oh, hush, Morene," Ilfa chided with a smile on her face. "Evergreens are a holy plant among my people. They are blessed with longevity by the spirits of nature just as my own kind are, and so we revere them. They are also believed to keep witches away, yet Morene stands here just fine, so I have my doubts that they work that way." Everyone laughed as Morene skulked, and Ilfa gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek, before turning back to Robin. "My kind believes that winter is brought about because Igne, the Father of Fire, grows weary and sick from maintaining the sun's light during the rest of the year," Ilfa explained. "We celebrate the solstice because it is the turning point in his rest; it is the point in which he begins to become well again. The winter solstice, though it is the darkest and coldest day of the year, is a reminder that everything will be well again." Robin immediately saw the parallel she was drawing to the situation with her own people, and nodded in understanding. "Evergreen trees are proof that one can thrive, even in the darkest and coldest of hours, and only emphasize the message, so they became part of our celebrations," Ilfa finished.

"It's also unofficially an excuse to get incredibly drunk," Cirith said with a small laugh.

"Well, yes, there is also that," Ilfa giggled.

"It appears that custom reaches across worlds, because that much is the same in Rosanne," Cherche said with an amused grin. "I highly expect I'll have to drag milord home as I do every year."

"Not if you're dragging _me_ home drunk," Robin stated instantly, causing Cherche to roll her eyes.

"Dean can bring you back to the castle," Cherche said flippantly, a smirk on her face.

"Ouch, I feel cold all of a sudden, and it's not the weather," Robin said dramatically, causing Cherche to laugh.

"Thomas says those who follow his faith aren't _supposed_ to get drunk, but…well, you can probably guess how well that rule is adhered to," Morgan said, to general laughter.

"Speaking of customs," Cherche said suddenly, "I just remembered that I promised to help Maman with the feast tonight. Farewell, everyone," she said with a polite bow, before kissing Robin on the cheek and walking away. Robin stared after her with a warm smile on his face.

"Dad, would you stop," Morgan groaned when she was out of earshot. "You can't even see anything through that thick coat!"

"Doesn't stop me from knowing it's there," Robin instantly said with a grin, causing Morgan to retch and the others to laugh.

"Good grief, you're as bad as Elcam," Cirith said in exasperation.

"Can you fault us for appreciating beauty when we see it?" Elcam said, sliding up next to Robin and throwing his arm around his shoulder in a friendly manner. _Virion, did your dad take a trip to Bersia and sleep with a Dark Elf?_ Robin thought in amusement. _Cause this guy is basically your Dark Elf twin._

"Are you saying you think she's beautiful?" Cirith asked in a dangerous voice. _Uh oh,_ Robin thought with a grin as some of the color drained from Elcam's face.

"N-not at all, my beautiful black pearl," Elcam said hurriedly, rushing forward and going to one knee in front of Cirith. "Whatever beauty exists in this world is utterly drowned out by your brilliant light!"

"Hollow flattery," Cirith said in a deadpan tone, though her face had a distinct red tinge to it now.

"Ah, but that it were hollow or flattery," Elcam instantly stated. "Alas, I speak only the truth!" _Definitely Virion's twin,_ Robin thought amusedly.

"Yeah, yeah," Cirith said, waving her hand at him flippantly. Elcam then stood up and whispered something in her ear, which in turn made Cirith blush violently. "You are the absolute worst!" she snapped, swatting him upside the head. Elcam merely laughed while Ilfa and Morene shook their heads.

"Cirith, look!" Nachmir called. The rest of them turned to see her perched atop the statue of Naga's shoulder, waving happily. Apparently, while they'd all been talking, she'd seen fit to decorate the statue of Naga. "Is this statue not beautiful now?"

"Where on earth did she find all of those gems!?" Robin shouted incredulously. There were _dozens_ of precious gems hanging off of the statue now; opals and sapphires, rubies and emeralds, peridot and aquamarine, and many others that Robin didn't even know the names of. "You could probably fund the whole army with that!"

"Oh, these are just a few trinkets," Nachmir said with a laugh."I have more back at camp!"

"She collects them," Cirith said in an exasperated tone as Robin gawked at the jewelry bedecking the statue of Naga. "Has for decades now. We've already sold off half of her collection, and it's funded us for years."

Robin simply stared slack jawed at the sheer amount of money just hanging off of the statue of Naga. She'd even somehow affixed a meticulously carved piece of jade to the center of Naga's forehead, and a smaller, matching jewel to the effigy of Tiki in her arms. _She had all of that in her bloody pockets!?_ Robin thought in shock.

"Oh, hey you!" Nachmir shouted, pointing her finger. Robin noticed she was pointing it at Morgan. "Yes, you," Morgan said when she pointed to herself in confusion. "Catch!" Nachmir then threw something straight at Morgan, who scrambled to catch it. Robin's eyes widened when he saw that she'd tossed her a small gemstone. It was much smaller than the ones she'd hung off of the statue, and it was a deep pink color and sparkled brilliantly, as well as being masterfully carved. "That is called Morganite!" Nachmir laughed. "It reminded me of your mother's hair, and given that your name is 'Morgan', I thought it a funny coincidence. Take it, it's yours!"

"M-mine!?" Morgan said in shock. "But Nachmir, this is probably worth a lot of money, I can't just-"

"Oh, it's not _that_ valuable, only a few hundred gold," Nachmir said flippantly. _ONLY a few hundred gold!?_ Robin thought incredulously. "Besides, it is customary for my kind to give gifts on the winter solstice! Take it, I insist!"

"T-thanks…" Morgan stuttered, staring at the gemstone in her hands in shock.

"And that is not all!" Nachmir shouted, pulling the attention of the rest of the crowd. "I hereby donate all but the favorites from my gemstone collection, worth two million, three hundred and eight thousand, seven hundred and ninety-five gold by Archanean estimates, to the Duchy of Rosanne!"

Everyone's jaws collectively dropped, before the citizens of Rosanne broke out into raucous cheers. Nachmir simply laughed happily at the sight, before jumping down from the statue and rejoining her sister. _She's been hauling around two million gold's worth of jewels!?_ Robin thought in disbelief.

"That is…unbelievably generous of you Nachmir," Ilfa stated in shock.

"You've clearly taken leave of your senses," Morene added, equally shocked.

"Have you gotten into the spirits already?" Cirith asked in abject disbelief. "You spent almost a century collecting those!"

"Well, I did have a drink back at camp, but only one," Nachmir giggled. "I just don't care about them anymore."

"You _don't care_!?" Cirith practically screeched. "Elcam and I had to drag you out of an Ecclesian prison camp due to your insatiable lust for gemstones, and now you _don't care!?_ "

"Hey, I'm keeping the pretty opal that I got from that mission," Nachmir said in a hurt voice. "It has sentimental value!"

"May Mother Gaia and Father Igne grant me patience," Cirith groaned, rubbing her temples. "Because if they don't, I'm going to kill you one of these days…"

"I just don't care about gemstones anymore," Nachmir said with a shrug, before grinning wildly. "Not in comparison to _this_ ," she said, pulling an object out of her pocket.

"Oh, wow, you found a dragonstone!" Nowi proclaimed excitedly, before frowning. "It's almost completely expended though..."

"I picked it up from a merchant in one of the villages," Nachmir said, staring at the object in childlike awe. "Never have I seen such a beautiful thing. And you can _feel_ the power radiating from it! It is far beyond any mere gemstone! It is like when I first laid eyes upon an emerald after collecting rocks as a little girl; how could I ever go back to collecting such dull things when something like _this_ exists!?"

"At least _someone_ around here appreciates them!" Nowi said happily, before reaching into one of the pockets on her own dress. "Here," she said, tossing another dragonstone to Nachmir, who squealed in delight. "That one's almost dead too, I can't really use it."

"Ah! Thank you!" Nachmir cried happily, running up and wrapping Nowi in a crushing embrace. "You are far too kind!"

"Ack!" Nowi coughed, before breathing in heavily once Nachmir finally let her go. "Geez, if it makes you _that_ happy, how about I give you my old dragonstones when I'm done with them?" Nowi suggested.

"You would do that!? Eeeee!" Nachmir said, before outright picking Nowi up off the ground in a hug, dancing from one foot to the other. Robin couldn't help but smile at the sight. "You are the absolute best!"

"I know," Nowi preened as she hugged Nachmir back. "Did we just become best friends?"

"The very best," Nachmir said joyously.

"Robin, what is the highest point in the city?" Cirith asked calmly.

"Uh…probably the parapet on the South Tower of the inner castle," Robin replied, nonplussed. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to throw myself off of it," Cirith deadpanned as Nowi and Nachmir descended into practically incomprehensible babbling.

000

"Happy holidays, friends and comrades!" Virion shouted from the head of the table that night, raising his glass of wine.

"Happy holidays!" the rest echoed, before digging into the feast in front of them.

 _And what a feast it is,_ Robin thought warmly as he dug into his own plate. Cherise and Cherche had pulled out all the stops; every conceivable dish he could think of was present on the table in front of them. At least eight kinds of meat (including bear, much to his surprise; Robin didn't think Cherche had taken his joke seriously), potatoes, yams, greens, salads, fruits, drinks of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic natures, and dozens of varieties of bread. Despite stacking every dining table Virion could scrounge up end to end, the guests barely had room for their own plates with all of the food present. All of the Shepherds were present, as was most of the command staff. The future children in particular looked utterly awed at the sheer amount of food in front of them, and several of them had abandoned any sense of decorum almost immediately. Nowi had had to talk down Nah from just transforming into her dragon form and devouring the entire table, threatening to take her dragonstone and give it to Nachmir if she didn't calm down. It was a sad reminder of the world they'd come from, but Robin was happy to see that they weren't all so gaunt and starved-looking anymore.

"So, when's the wedding?" Chrom asked lightly from Robin's left. He was seated right next to his best friend, with Chrom's family stretched out to his left, and Robin's to his right.

"Just before the start of spring," Robin answered. "Cherche wants it to be outdoors, with snow still on the ground, but I want it to be at least passably warm if I'm going to be standing out there in a formal tunic."

"That's going to be stressful," Walter noted a few seats to his right. He was seated next to Thomas, who was seated next to Morgan on the opposite side of Cherche and her parents from Robin. Morgan kept insisting that there wasn't anything going on, but he wasn't so sure. "The Army will be preparing to march, and according to the messages we just received the first half of the Hironeiden Army will arrive next week, and you're going to be planning a wedding at the same time?"

"Maman and I are taking care of most of the planning," Cherche responded in Robin's stead.

"Yeah, practically everyone warned me against getting involved with the planning anyway, so I guess it's for the best," Robin chuckled.

"I think it will be wonderful," Kendal spoke up from across the table. He was seated next to Glen, who was seated next to Lucina, much to Chrom's very obvious irritation. "Having such a joyous occasion right before the march will keep the troops' morale up. Especially since Cherche is so beloved by her people."

Robin smiled warmly at that. He'd been frankly astounded by Cherche's popularity with her people when he'd first arrived, and upon asking the locals, he'd been practically drowned in tales of her exploits during her time as commander of Rosanne's army. Not only had she done one hell of a job holding off the Empire with only ten thousand men, but she'd apparently gone out of her way to shelter the villagers from conflict or bring them material aid, many times at risk to her own life. He couldn't help but be proud of her, and love her all the more for it.

"Apparently there's a whole slew of weddings going on," Glen added, "but that's not surprising. Such things normally accompany a war; the people try almost desperately to find their own little chunk of peace amidst the chaos."

"Well, they won't have to worry about finding peace for long," Robin said confidently. "Because we're about to kick Walhart's arse back to whatever hole he crawled out of!" This was met with cheers, particularly loud ones from the Khans further down the table. "To peace!" Robin said on impulse, raising his mug of ale.

"To peace!" the rest of the room toasted, before cheering.

"How fares your people, Queen Ilfa?" Kendal asked. "Are they running into problems in the forest?"

"Not at all," Ilfa said serenely from a few spaces to Kendal's right. "We are quite comfortable there. The forest has a…homey feeling to it. Much better than the lifeless Plegian Highlands. A few of my people have even joined the festivities around the city. It would appear Nachmir's donation has people at least thinking twice about our kind."

"I still can't believe you had over two million gold's worth of gems sitting around in camp," Chrom said in a strained voice. "How does someone even collect that much!?"

"Several decades and an obsession," Cirith instantly stated from next to Ilfa. "Even I wasn't aware of the full size of her collection until she offered part of it during one of our more…desperate periods."

"Rosanne very much appreciates your sister's generosity, Cirith," Virion stated with a smile. "Zere is much yet to rebuild here, and ze funds you have provided will go a long way to restoring Rosanne to her former glory."

"And restore her we shall," Cherche said resolutely.

"Once we give Walhart what's coming to him, at any rate," Gerard added.

"Which we're definitely going to," Robin repeated with a grin. "Enough about the war, though. We've got the day off, and I'm not going to waste it worrying about the Conqueror."

"Well said, son," Gerard said with a drink, hoisting his drink into the air. "I'll drink to that." The others quickly agreed with him, and they had a much smaller, much less organized toast, before digging back into their meals.

000

Robin smiled as he stood out on the balcony of his room, gazing out over the city. It was still well illuminated, and from the sounds of things, the party was still in full swing down there. Someone ambitious had gone and created a sort of combination of all of the holiday displays in the market square; a smaller pine tree had been brought into the city and put in the center of the square. It was bedecked with enchanted lights and ornaments from all of the displays. A wooden effigy of the baby Tiki, holding a burning sun in one hand and a cross in another, had been affixed to the very top of the tree. It had attracted quite a few curious onlookers. He could see some of the Temple priests and Bersian Paladins giving it the stink eye, but he couldn't help but smile warmly at it. _That kind of thinking is just what this Alliance needs,_ Robin thought happily.

The Shepherds had gone their separate ways after the feast, most of them to spend time with their families or to pay respects to their various gods. He'd spent most of the evening with Morgan, Cherche, and his soon-to-be parents, but eventually he'd started getting a bit tired and opted to retire.

"Robin, I thought you were going to bed?" Cherche's voice said from his door.

He turned to look at her, and couldn't help but smile. She was already in her nightclothes, and her hair was taken out of its ponytail, hanging loosely down her back. _You're so unbelievably beautiful,_ he thought, _and I'm the luckiest man alive._ "Just getting some night air before I do," Robin said warmly. "This really is a beautiful city," he remarked as he turned back to the view below.

"Yes, it is," Cherche said fondly, walking up next to him and wrapping her arm around his waist. Robin instinctively wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I have missed it so very much. I can't thank you enough for seeing me back here."

"Anytime, Cherche," Robin said softly, squeezing her slightly in a one-armed hug.

"I spoke with Lucina the other day," Cherche said suddenly.

"Oh?" Robin asked, a bit confused why she'd bring that up. "What about?"

"About the Valmese War in her future," Cherche said grimly. Robin blanched. "I asked her what became of Rosanne, and…well, it wasn't pleasant."

"…What happened?" Robin asked hesitantly.

"After Walhart's death, the entire Empire descended into chaos," Cherche explained, a distant look in her eyes. "Practically every country descended into civil war, and Rosanne was no exception. We'd never liberated it during the war, you see. With the way the Plegian war dragged out, Ylisse had barely enough troops to field an army at all. Our army barely managed to survive landfall at the harbor long enough to offload our troops, let alone liberate the country."

"Gods, that's awful," Robin whispered.

"The worst part of it is, when what was left of our forces pulled out of Valm," Cherche said in a quiet, haunted voice, "we passed back through Rosanne. My parents…they had died in the fighting," she whispered.

Robin turned pale and looked down at Cherche. A single tear was running down her cheek. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry, Cherche," Robin said hurriedly, even as she sniffled, before wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her into his chest. "I'm sorry that I failed you in Morgan's timeline. Gods, I'm so sorry…"

"Why do you apologize?" Cherche said, pulling away and smiling up at him, wiping the tears off of her face. "You have done nothing wrong, and from the way Lucina spoke of things, liberating Rosanne in her time was a pipe dream. I highly doubt I would have expected you to do the impossible."

"Because I know damn well that I made the same promises to you that I made here in that timeline," Robin said bitterly, looking away from her, "and I failed."

"You have not failed at all," Cherche said, placing her hand on his cheek and forcing him to look at her. "Perhaps in another time you did, but look at us now," she said gesturing out toward the city. "Rosanne is liberated. In Lucina's time, we barely even passed through the country, and it remained firmly in the hands of Colonel Farber, who was a general in her timeline, for the entire war. But Farber is dead long before being promoted to a military governor, Rosanne is liberated, and my parents are alive," she whispered gently. "You have kept every promise you made to me."

"But I still failed once," Robin insisted.

"Then you have rectified your mistake now," Cherche said just as insistently. "It's funny," she said then, laughing a bit hollowly. "I used to believe so much in fate. I believed that the Divine Dragons had preordained paths for us to follow, like the Temple teaches, like my mother taught me. But you've since come into my life and openly defied fate at every turn, and our being here is no exception. You've changed the future already, and now…well, I can't help but believe you'll prevent Lucina's dark future from happening," she said softly. "I can't help but believe in _you_."

"It isn't just me," Robin said emphatically. "It's all of us. You, Morgan, Chrom, the Shepherds, the entire Army. I couldn't do anything without you guys beside me."

"I remember when we first started our voyage here," Cherche said with a smile, "when you spoke with Chrom at the prow of the ship, we all heard you."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Robin grumbled sheepishly. "I probably sounded like an idiot."

"Not at all," Cherche argued. "You were inspiring. The fire in your eyes as you talked about the invisible ties that bind us all together…I couldn't help but believe you," she laughed, before kissing him on the cheek. "And I'm so incredibly happy that those invisible ties you spoke of bind me to you."

"So am I, Cherche," Robin said lovingly, kissing her back, this time on the mouth. "I couldn't ask for someone better to share my life with."

"Flatterer," Cherche said accusingly, though she was still smiling.

"Shamelessly so," Robin replied, eliciting laughter from Cherche.

"Thank you again Robin," Cherche said with a smile, kissing him once more. "You've given me everything I've ever hoped for. A wonderful family, the safety of my parents, and the liberation of my homeland. It is the best Winter Solstice gift I have ever received." _I hope that lance I asked Cordelia to make you doesn't seem trite by comparison,_ Robin thought dryly. "Now, come, it is time for bed," she said, pulling herself away from him, before grabbing hold of his sleeve as she walked not toward the door, but his bed.

"Uhh…." Robin trailed off, completely at a loss for what to think right now.

"Oh, nothing like that," Cherche laughed. "I just know that you're intolerant of the cold, and wish to keep you warm. Anything like…that…" she trailed off momentarily, blushing profusely, "will wait until we're wedded."

"R-right, of course," Robin chuckled sheepishly, a bit ashamed of where his mind had immediately gone. Cherche allowed him to climb into bed first, before sliding in next to him and curling up into his side. They laid like that for a while in complete silence; Robin found himself immensely enjoying the experience. _Well, I know how to solve that tent shortage problem now, for at least one soldier,_ Robin thought amusedly. _I'm never sleeping alone again if I can help it._

"Good night, Robin," Cherche said sleepily. "I love you."

"Good night, Cherche," Robin responded with a smile. Looking down, he saw her eyes were already closed. "I love you too." Cherche gave a small noise of warm acknowledgment, before finally drifting off to sleep, snoring softly.

 _She's definitely Morgan's mother,_ Robin mentally laughed, even as his own eyelids grew heavy. _I really am the luckiest man in the world._

 **AN:**

 **Given that today is the 21** **st** **of December and I'm coincidentally in the middle of winter in this story, I figured I'd write a Christmas special.**

 **The version of "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" listed above has the original lyrics (minus the altered last line in the verse, because Jesus Christ wasn't actually a person in Bersian lore, and with the opening lines are repeated at the end of the verse a la the modern version). The original tone was a bit more somber than the joyful little hymn we all know and love, but I don't like it, so imagine the above with the modern tune. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir does an excellent job singing the real version of it, and just about anything else cause they're damn good at singing lol. It's my favorite Christmas hymn, with "O Come All Ye Faithful" coming in as a close second. Listening to Christmas hymns makes me feel nostalgic for the days of my youth, when I wasn't an atheist whose personal anthem is "bah, humbug!", and it's a damn sight better than the tripe they call Christmas "music" these days.**

 **The last level of Cirith's campaign has you rescuing Nachmir from an Ecclesian prison camp because she tried to rob a human opal mine, figured I'd reference it, and also flesh out some characters that we've only seen peripherally a bit.**

 **Also the mental image of Morene in a Christmas hat had me rolling, I figured I'd share the mental image.**

 **Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.**


	94. Chapter 94

**Chapter 94**

 **Unwilling Cooperation**

"King Gerald, glad you could join us," Chrom said with a smile as the Hironeiden Army leaders stepped off of the _Legacy of Berkut_ on the last day of the year and met up with the rest of the war council on the docks.

"Glad to be here," Gerald said, stumbling a bit at being on solid ground once more, the ice not doing him any favors. "I've decided that I officially hate sailing."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Ellen chided, elbowing her husband.

"Maybe for you," Dolgahn grumbled. "Dwarves aren't meant to keep their feet off solid earth."

"Don't you sail around in zeppelins with cannons strapped onto them?" Ellen said dryly.

"Well, that's entirely different," Dolgahn said sheepishly. "Some mountain passes are impassible at certain times of year, we can't always walk everywhere. Speaking of cannons," he then said in a dangerous tone, turning to Robin, who was now grinning sheepishly, "I've noticed your little 'countermeasures' to the Valmese."

"And I'm sure you also noticed the letter I left with Admiral Bahar to give to you, containing the decision to halve the tariffs on Dwarven goods, and our improvements on your cannon designs free of charge, all given as a…generous donation for your decision to aid us in the war," Robin said back with a grin. "Miriel even improved the design of Glen's prototype hand cannon, again free of charge. I think that makes up for it, no?"

"…Aye, and you drive one hell of a bargain," Dolgahn said, his stern glare breaking out into a smile. "It's hard to stay mad at that. But I'll be watching you closely from now on; no more having your 'locksmiths' 'acquiring' 'misplaced' schematics on 'vacation'," he warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dolgahn," Robin said as his grin widened further. Dolgahn simply rolled his eyes and huffed, before chuckling quietly.

"I found sailing to be rather pleasant," Snowstone said from Dolgahn's left. "Sailing has little place in Bersia, given that the Great Sea is impassable and there's little reason to go far beyond the coast. But perhaps I will move to the coast once the war is over…"

"Well, it appears we agree on something, at least," Ilfa offered with a smile. "I too found sailing to be enjoyable."

"Oh. You," Snowstone said disdainfully. "I'd almost forgotten you were here. I'm surprised your soldiers haven't all descended into _another_ civil war and saved us all the trouble of wiping you out when you inevitably make nuisances of yourselves."

"An Elf with a short attention span?" Ilfa sniped, her ambition to be civil sapped immediately. "Imagine my shock."

"Better a short attention span than being hideous mutants," Snowstone instantly shot back.

"Better a hideous mutant than an arrogant bitch," Ilfa snarled.

"Alright, that's enough!" Robin shouted in irritation. The two Queens looked at him embarrassedly, before returning to glaring at each other. "Snowstone, perhaps you could go find lodging for your people?"

"Yes, that's a better use of my time than holding a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed," Snowstone spat, before storming away.

"Bitch," Ilfa muttered under her breath as Snowstone dropped out of even her impressive earshot.

"Queen Ilfa," Robin began warningly.

"I'm trying," Ilfa snapped.

"Not hard enough," Robin countered patiently.

"One can only bear so much vitriol with grace," Ilfa replied shortly.

"Take the high road," Robin responded simply.

"My people tried to 'take the high road' before," Ilfa said angrily, "and it ended up with us being chased across the continent, driven from our homes!"

"That was centuries ago," Robin said as patiently as he could. Ilfa had told him before how shortly after the original Dark Elves were mutated by Encablossa, their "untainted" counterparts had driven them out of Elven society, and that was how Vellond was founded. He felt for them, but that was before any currently living Elf was even born. _It's time for them to let go,_ he thought in irritation. _Both of their populations are practically nonexistent, we're in the middle of a war, and they want to drag up old grudges!?_

"My grandmother was _alive_ during that time, she was one of the clan leaders!" Ilfa seethed, before visibly gaining control of herself and taking a deep breath. "This is pointless. None of you can understand what my people have endured at their hands. Morene, Cirith, let's go," she said shortly. Before Robin could even respond, she, Morene, and Cirith all stormed away, in the exact opposite direction of Snowstone.

"Well, that's just great," Robin sighed. "They haven't even been off of the ships an hour and they're already fighting."

"Elves and Dark Elves fight, Robin," Dolgahn pointed out. "It's just what they do."

"It's a load of wyvern dung," Robin snapped, surprising the stout businessman.

"You seem awfully bothered by this," Ellen remarked curiously.

"You're damn right I am," Robin growled back, causing Ellen to raise her hands in a gesture of peace. "It's not just the fact that having her and Ilfa constantly at odds is going to jeopardize the mission. It's that they can't let go of some grudge they were never alive to experience, except by what they perpetrated with their own two hands. That kind of hatred is what gives birth to people like Gangrel, more concerned with vengeance than doing what's right by their people. That kind of hatred is what causes more pointless deaths, which only fuels the hatred. It's a vicious cycle like Ylisse and Plegia were caught in, and it needs to stop."

"There are centuries of hatred there, Robin," Gerald said pointedly. "Hundreds of thousands of both races have been killed at each other's hands. It's not going to sort itself out in a couple of weeks."

"'It won't sort itself out' is a crap excuse and I'm not buying it," Robin said, shaking his head angrily.

"Trying to force the issue will only make it worst, trust me," Gerald insisted.

"Yeah, maybe," Robin muttered after a moment, running some ideas through his head. He smiled, however, as he thought of one thing he could try. "Either way, the war won't wait on them to sort themselves out. War council's in an hour, everyone, at the Town Hall."

000

"Alright, everyone," Robin announced as Kendal and Gerald were the last to file in an hour and a half later, "let's get this meeting started."

"Congratulations on your engagement," Gerald interrupted with a smile. He was soon echoed by the other Bersian leaders.

"Yeah, thanks," Robin muttered sheepishly. Cherche reached out and squeezed his hand, and he gave her a soft smile in return. "Speaking of which, after our wedding we're going to be mobilizing against Valm and starting the war in earnest. As you all know, or should if you read the preliminary report I sent back with Admiral Bahar, our current objective is to liberate an oracle of the Divine Dragon, the 'Voice of Naga', from imprisonment by the Orcs at the Mila Tree. I propose we send General Kendal and the bulk of the Hironeiden Army westward, to begin liberating the Northern Valmese from the Empire, while the Ylissean Army mobilizes against the Mila Tree."

"So, we're a distraction, then?" Gerald asked dryly.

"Yes and no," Robin replied sheepishly. "I'm not going to just waste your mens' lives, King Gerald. After we secure the Mila Tree, we will be sending the Ylissean Army to assist you while the Shepherds attempt to convince the dynasts of Chon'sin to turn against Emperor Yen'fay. With that being said," he said gravely, "Princess Say'ri insists that the dynasts will frown upon the absence of the Hironeiden leadership at negotiations. Which means that King Gerald, Queen Ellen, Prince Glen, Prime Minister Dolgahn, Queen Snowstone, and Queen Ilfa will _have_ to accompany the Shepherds."

"That's awfully dangerous, Grandmaster," Dolgahn said warily. "Having the entire leadership of the opposition to the Conqueror going alone and relatively vulnerable through enemy territory could horribly backfire."

"I'm aware of the risks," Robin said patiently. "However, the dynasts will see your refusal to represent yourselves at negotiations as a personal slight. While we could theoretically make up for it, the task will be difficult enough without adding more burdens."

"I can't speak for the others, but I can handle myself in a fight," Gerald said with a grin. "I'm fine with it. Are you coming with me, Ellen?"

"Like you'd last five minutes without me," Ellen said with a barking laugh. "Of course I'm going."

"Somebody has to keep you both in line," Glen said wryly. "I suppose I'll have to come along too."

"As am I," Ilfa said determinedly. "I cannot ask my people to risk their lives while I hide in a castle at the back of the lines."

"I will not be shown up by this mutant," Ilfa instantly spat. "I will be coming along as well." Robin sighed as the two glared at each other.

"Well then, I guess it's decided then," Dolgahn sighed. "I'll come along as well. I may be getting on in years, but I don't carry these axes for appearance's sake," he chortled, patting the pair of axes at his waist.

"It appears I'll be missing quite the party," Kendal chuckled. "I will lead our troops to victory, King Gerald," he swore, putting his fist to his heart.

"Like I doubted you," Gerald laughed, before turning back to Robin. "Is it just the Shepherds that will be escorting us all, then?"

"No," Robin said suddenly, surprising Chrom, Walter, and Kendal, who'd already heard his plans before and knew he wasn't planning on bringing along any of the rank and file. "I just had an idea about an hour ago. Queen Snowstone, Queen Ilfa," he said, "I want you to select twenty of each of your finest troops."

"For what?" Ilfa asked curiously.

"They're going to be our escorts," Robin replied.

"That sounds like a reasonable plan," Snowstone said contemplatively. "As long as they are kept apart, I don't see any-"

"They aren't getting kept apart," Robin interrupted with a mischievous grin on his face. "I'm going to be pairing your troops together." Their response to his proclamation was deafening silence.

"You're losing your mind," Ellen outright laughed. "King Chrom, I think we need a new Grandmaster."

"Oh no, I've not lost my mind at all," Robin responded, still grinning. "Even with that many troops along with us, we'll still be a small enough group to be relatively stealthy. But Chon'sin is crawling with Orc patrols, and if, say, the Elf troops with us got into a fight over some petty slights…then their Queens would end up being killed when the Orcs heard it." The following silence, though short lived, was even more deafening than the last.

"You would gamble with our lives like that!?" Snowstone seethed after a few seconds.

"You have no right to meddle like this!" Ilfa snarled indignantly.

Both of them jumped, however, as Robin slammed his fist on the table angrily. "I think I do, Queen Ilfa," Robin said icily. "First, your constant bickering is almost certainly going to endanger the mission and undermine the Alliance. Second, Ylisse is going to grant your people asylum after this war, but every interaction I see between your two peoples only convinces me that we're going to end up hosting a proxy war on your behalf at some point in the future. And thanks to the treaty between the Elves, Dwarves, and Hironeiden, practically all of Bersia will be dragged into it as well. As the Grandmaster of this Alliance and a friend to the King whose halidom you're requesting asylum in, I have _every_ right to do what I can to ensure that we don't start a war across worlds."

"I don't see how this is going to help, Robin," Kendal said dubiously. "You can't just throw the two groups together and expect things to turn out for the better."

"Mutual survival tends to forge a lot of unlikely alliances," Robin said pointedly. "I remember you and Gerald admitting to allying with Regnier to stop Encablossa."

"This is hardly the same thing," Gerald pointed out.

"Isn't it?" Robin asked rhetorically. "Tell me, what happens when the Valmese discover this crack in our chain of command?" Nobody answered him, so he answered his own question. "Simple, they're going to do the same thing I've been doing since I noticed that Cervantes doesn't like Lucretia: they're going to try to find any way they can to exploit it. If they do so successfully, we will all die." Nobody had a response to that. "I considered just intermixing the entire Dark Elf and Elf armies." Snowstone scoffed derisively at that, and Ilfa rolled her eyes. "That wouldn't have worked out for obvious reasons. I considered having Tharja hex Snowstone and Ilfa so they can't be more than five feet apart, _and I will do so if I have to!_ " he shouted over Ilfa and Snowstones indignant outbursts. "But, even if I did, it would only prove that two particular individuals can get along temporarily until they can convince me to have the hex lifted. But if multiple people prove that they can get along, without magical intervention, and in spite of their bloody history, then it sets an example for peace."

"It won't work," Snowstone instantly spat. "Far too much Elven blood has been shed by these blighted monstrosities for such a trite act to change everything."

"Only after you reprehensible murderers forced us from our lands!" Ilfa shot back angrily.

" _Enough!_ " Robin shouted as he slammed his fist on the table again. This time he channeled a wind spell that detonated when his fist hit the table, blowing several papers off of the desk and startling the Elven Queens out of their imminent argument. "Enough already! Frederick!" he barked.

"Yes, Grandmaster?" Frederick asked, a bit put off at the sudden address.

"How is your wife doing?" Robin asked in a pleasant tone, seemingly out of the blue.

"Er…well, fine enough I suppose," Frederick responded, completely befuddled at this point. "She seems a bit restless at us 'man-spawn' taking our time to march to war, but-"

"Say that again," Robin interrupted.

"Er…say what again?" Frederick asked in confusion.

"What does your wife call us?" Robin clarified.

"'Man-spawn'," Frederick repeated, a bit stiffly. "It is a frankly derogatory word that she uses to refer to humans."

"And what is your wife, if not human?" Robin asked.

"You know very well my wife is a taguel. You were there the night she joined us, and you've fought with her before," Frederick responded, now sounding a bit annoyed. "What are you getting at?"

"Tell me about the taguel," Robin stated. "After all, Queen Ilfa and Queen Snowstone don't know the entire story."

Frederick's eyes widened as he realized what Robin was getting at. "The taguel are a race of shapeshifters," Frederick explained. "While their normal appearance is human enough, save for the 'rabbit ears', their true form is that of a giant rabbit…one that I admit still unnerves me," he said with an embarrassed laugh.

"I already know this," Ilfa drawled in exasperation. "As does Snowstone. Why is this relevant?"

"This is relevant because of what happened to my wife's people," Frederick said in a grim tone. "They were slain almost in entirety. My wife and son are the last two of their people." Ilfa and Snowstone's eyes both widened at that; they clearly hadn't known that part.

"That is why the boy goes on about 'extinction'…" Ilfa muttered in realization.

"Indeed," Frederick said gravely. "In his future, he was the last of his kind. He bore not only the burden of saving mankind, but saving his own race from extinction."

"Tell me, Frederick," Robin said, staring straight into Ilfa and Snowstone's surprised faces as he asked. "Who are the ones who committed genocide on the taguel?"

"…Our race," Frederick admitted ashamedly. Ilfa's hands went over her mouth in shock, and Snowstone's eyes were roughly the size of a buckler by now. "Humans were the ones who hunted their race to destruction. Panne's warren was the last of their kind, slain before her eyes."

"Right then," Robin said icily in the silence following Frederick's statement. "As you can now see, Panne has every justification to hate our kind. Not only did humans destroy her race, but they murdered her family in front of her very eyes…yet she doesn't hate us. Not all of us. She's married to one, her child is one by half, and she's told me herself that she considers the Shepherds her new warren." Ilfa averted her eyes from him, while Snowstone had grown stiff. "If the last survivor of a genocide can find not just camaraderie, not just friendship, but _love_ with the race who slaughtered her people, there is absolutely _no conceivable reason_ why the Elves and Dark Elves can't achieve peace…except if you are too childish and petty to try."

"It is not childish to remember the injustice visited upon us," Ilfa said angrily, though her eyes didn't match the fire in her voice and she still couldn't meet Robin's eyes.

"And it is not petty to want justice for the lives taken from us in the First War of Heroes," Snowstone stated with a short glare at Ilfa, though with less than the usual amount of anger.

"It is when both of your people are so poorly populated that a single war would doom you both to extinction, or when it would cause hundreds of thousands of people outside of your own races to die on your behalf," Robin said bluntly, and both of them winced. "Select twenty of each of your finest troops. Inform them that they're being paired together, sharing tents and the whole nine yards. And please, for the love of your gods, and you happen to worship the same ones by the way, _try_ to convince them to bridge the gap. For the sake of your own peoples, if not each others'. Peace has to start somewhere, and you will probably _never_ have a chance like this again."

"It will never work," Snowstone said stubbornly.

"Then when we're ambushed because our escorts turned on each other and brought the Orcs down on us in the process, you can say 'I told you so' as we're all being cut down," Robin said humorlessly, though it still earned some quiet laughter from a few members of the war council. Ilfa herself couldn't help but snort in amusement as Snowstone rolled her eyes. "Just try, for pity's sake, would you?"

"…Fine," Snowstone said bitterly after a long moment.

"Fine," Ilfa sighed hopelessly. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Yeah, me too," Robin said quietly, mostly to himself. "Now then," he said in a louder voice, "now that that's settled, let's iron out some concrete plans for this war, shall we?"

000

"Are you sure about this, Robin?" Chrom asked quietly as they sat in a tavern later that evening, once the meeting had been concluded. "You're playing a very dangerous game, trying to force the Elves and Dark Elves to cooperate like that."

"I know," Robin sighed. "Trust me; I know exactly how dangerous the situation is. But as I said back there, everyone else will be paying the price if we don't try."

"I know," Chrom grunted. "It's the only reason I didn't argue against it." The two sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking slowly out of their mugs, before Chrom gave a quiet laugh.

"What is it?" Robin asked.

"It's just…that's something Emmeryn would have done," Chrom said wistfully. Robin quickly averted his eyes back to his drink. "Well, maybe not that exact way, but she'd be arguing for peace between them just as hard as you are."

"Well, considering I'm the one who lost Emmeryn," Robin muttered bitterly, "the least I could do is carry on her legacy."

Chrom frowned as Robin stared morosely into his mug. "You still blame yourself," Chrom stated. It wasn't a question.

"And I'll never stop," Robin confirmed in a dead tone. "You know why. It was my plan, my failure. We're not having this argument again."

"That's just because you don't want me beating the stuffing out of you again," Chrom said with a grin, which Robin tried to match, but ultimately failed, before turning back to his drink. "You know we don't blame you, right?"

"I know," Robin said quietly. "But sometimes you'll turn to the side, like you're about to say something, then you'll stop. And I just know you were about to say something to Emmeryn, but then you remember she isn't there." Chrom winced, and Robin saw it as an affirmation. "There's a reason Lissa won't wear the Exalted Raiment, reserved for sages in the Exalted Line, and it's not because she honestly believes they don't match her hair. It's because Emmeryn wore them. Not the exact same robes, but the same style." Chrom's silence was another affirmation. "I'll stop blaming myself when you guys stop grieving."

"…That's fair, I guess," Chrom sighed. "She would have been proud of you today, Robin."

"Yeah, maybe," Robin muttered. "I just hope I didn't sign all of our death warrants."

"You didn't," Chrom said confidently. "Ilfa and Snowstone are reasonable enough to where they'll at least keep their troops in line, especially with so much at stake."

"We'll see," Robin sighed. "Am I too young to be saying I'm getting too old for this?"

"Maybe," Chrom said with a shrug. "I wouldn't say it around Kendal or General Sedgar, because they'd just roll their eyes and laugh at you, but…no, we're both getting too old for this," Chrom laughed.

"To getting old," Robin said dryly, holding up his mug.

"To getting old," Chrom echoed, before matching the toast.


	95. Chapter 95

**Chapter 95**

 **The Calm Before the Storm**

"Hey Chrom, what was it like for you on your wedding day?" Robin asked out of the blue as he fiddled with his white formal tunic.

"Well…" Chrom asked, smoothing down his own silver tunic and adjusting the belt from which Falchion hung, as ever, "I was excited and terrified, mostly. And everything also felt a bit surreal."

"Oh, good," Robin deadpanned as he threw his coat over his shoulders, the black and purple clashing violently with his tunic. "I thought I was losing my mind for a second, because I'm pretty terrified right now."

"Fear not, my friend!" Virion proclaimed, wearing a white silk tunic of his own that probably cost more than this entire ceremony. "You simply face ze fear of ze unknown. 'Tis only natural."

"Yeah, well, screw nature," Robin said in a dead tone, "because being this terrified on what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life sucks."

Chrom simply chuckled at that. "Oh, come on," he drawled, seizing Robin by his sleeve, "let's get out there. Trust me, you're going to forget all about that fear in about ten minutes when your wife-to-be comes strolling down that aisle."

"If you say so," Robin said dubiously as Virion pulled open the door for them, and they exited one of the Temple's side entrances.

The wedding was being held outside, as per Cherche's wishes, right out back of the Temple of Naga that her mother worked at. And Robin could sum up the wedding in only one word: white. White decorations, white pews, practically everybody wearing white or silver (aside from the Khans, who wore the same armor as they always did, just polished to a reflective sheen), and white still on the ground. The snow was melting, however; it was the twilight of winter, and spring was just around the corner. _Thanks the gods,_ Robin thought. _I can't stand the cold._ The air was chilly, but warm enough to where he only felt the need to wear his coat.At the end of the aisle stood Libra, who would be officiating over their wedding ceremony, as all of the Shepherds had. To Libra's right stood Dean, who Robin had insisted on being his "best man", much to the amusement of the others. Virion and Chrom were simply his groomsmen.

"Is there a reason you have your axe?" Robin asked dryly as he stopped in front of Libra, gesturing to the red and black axe that hung at his belt, clashing horribly with his white priest robes almost as much as Robin's coat did with his tunic. He asked mostly to distract himself; he knew Libra was practically attached at the hip to the weapon like Chrom was with Falchion.

"Is there a reason you had our Elven comrades post guards?" Libra asked just as dryly, inclining his head to the perimeter of the ceremony, where pairs of Elves and Dark Elves were standing at regular intervals and looking quite disgruntled. It surprised Robin to see that Snowstone and Ilfa were sitting next to each other as well; apparently they'd been bullied into following the same arrangements their troops had to deal with by their own troops. Neither looked happy about it, but Robin could only smile in amusement.

"Fair enough," Robin chuckled at Libra's answer. Any other attempts at small talk, however, were cut off by the main doors of the Temple creaking open. _It's time,_ Robin realized with a spike of panic. The panic was quickly washed away, however, as he turned to see his bride-to-be.

 _Oh, wow, Chrom was right,_ he absently noted as any emotion other than abject awe was drained from his mind as Cherche exited the Temple. He'd seen her dress before, he'd been coerced into helping her pick it out, but the simple act of her wearing it made it seem like the most beautiful thing on the planet. Though Cherche normally kept her hair straight and tied into a neat ponytail, her hair now hung loose, styled into gentle curls that cascaded down her back and shoulders. Robin couldn't see much past the veil, but there was not a shred of doubt in his mind that she looked anything absolutely less than perfect beneath it. She was arm in arm with her father, who looked to be restraining tears of joy as he escorted her down the aisle.

Directly after Cherche was Minerva after struggling a bit to get out of the door without causing property damage, gingerly holding up the train with her teeth. Cherche had been delighted by the idea of Robin choosing Dean as his best man, and had immediately echoed the decision with Minerva. Minerva's scales and been cleaned and polished to where they positively glowed, and a white bow had been affixed to the top of her head. After Minerva were Morgan, holding their rings with a face-splitting grin, Cordelia, looking positively ecstatic that Robin was _finally_ getting married, and Miriel of all people, bringing up the rear with a serene smile on her face.

Robin couldn't help but smile as Cherche came to a stop across from him, smiling lovingly at him. "You look beautiful," he said quietly. Of course, that was an understatement; she was the most gorgeous woman on earth and throughout all of time, as far as Robin was concerned.

"You look quite handsome yourself," Cherche giggled back as her father and bridesmaids took their own positions, with Minerva standing just behind all of them, as Dean was behind Chrom and Virion on Robin's side. "You know, I'm actually rather glad you wore your coat; you just wouldn't look the same without it."

"Told you so," Robin said cheekily, before Libra cleared his throat gently, and he fell silent.

"Dearly beloved," Libra called out, "we are gathered here today, beneath the benevolent gaze of the Divine Dragon Naga, to join this couple in holy matrimony. If any should have cause for these two not to be wed, speak now _or forever hold your peace._ " The last half of that statement was edged with a threat, and his hand slowly drifted to the axe at his waist. Robin had learned that at the first wedding he'd officiated, some jilted lover had made a scene at this part of the ceremony, and it had broken Libra's heart to see the young couples' happiest day ruined. So, in Libra's own words, "I have since made it clear that speaking out was not acceptable." It worked as well now as it did in every other Shepherd's wedding; nobody dared to make a sound.

Libra smirked in satisfaction as he continued. "Do you, Robin, take this woman, Cherche DuGalle, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love and to hold her, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?"

"I do," Robin responded instantly. He then reached toward Morgan, who was positively beaming, and took the ring from her, before placing it on Cherche's hand.

"Do you, Cherche DuGalle, take this man, Robin, as your lawfully wedded husband? To love and to hold him, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?"

"I do," Cherche responded without hesitation, before mirroring his motions.

"Then I hereby pronounce you man and wife," Libra said with a smile. "You may kiss the bride."

As Robin and Cherche sealed their vows with a kiss, Dean and Minerva both let out joyous roars that just barely failed to drown out the cheering of the Shepherds.

000

Leinhart dusted some stray snow off of his fine black coat as he appeared in the middle of Valm Castle's throne room. A few of the Imperial Honor Guards jumped into weapons-ready positions at a speed that continued to impress him, before relaxing as they realized who it was.

"How was the wedding, Leinhart?" Regnier asked with a tone of amusement from the end of the hall.

"It was quite lovely," Leinhart responded with a smile. "The tactician and his bride chose their mounts as their best man and maid of honor. I thought that was an amusing little alteration of tradition."

"You didn't strike them down!?" a voice asked incredulously to his left, slick like oil and grating against Leinhart's ears, instantly wiping the smile from his face.

"I am not without honor, unlike you, Excellus," Leinhart snapped. "When I kill the tactician, it will be in honorable combat, not with a knife in the back."

The purple haired man that reminded Leinhart so strongly of a toad grimaced at him. "Honor, schmonor," Excellus said flippantly. "You had the opportunity to kill one of their most critical leaders, and refused to take it! You are either a craven, or a fool!"

"Hold your tongue, Excellus," a deep, powerful voice said quietly from the throne, though it still managed to be heard by all present. Excellus instantly turned white and bowed deeply, and Leinhart scoffed in disdain. _Weak-willed toady,_ he thought disdainfully.

"Y-yes, milord Walhart," Excellus stuttered fearfully.

The man who'd spoken stood up from his throne then, and Leinhart admitted once again that for a mortal human, he found himself quite impressed. Walhart the Conqueror, Emperor of the Valmese Empire, stood well above most other men, perhaps even with a few inches on General Kendal. His armor was stark red and encompassed the entirety of his massive frame, with practically no holes to exploit. A deep black cape hung from his shoulders, though it was worn and tattered at the end; Walhart had worn that cape since his first conquest, overthrowing his weaker elder brother and seizing control of the tiny nation of Valm, and so it was no longer in pristine condition. A large, horned head piece of the same color as his armor kept his long, flowing white hair in order, the ends of which were tucked down into his armor, as to avoid interfering with his vision during a fight. His eyes, with irises so brightly silver that he almost appeared to have none at all, gazed coldly down at Excellus. In his hands was held a massive axe with a head nearly as big as Leinhart's entire torso, painted red with a black edge. It was the Wolf Berg, the axe of his ancestor who had founded Valm during the Schism, and it was well kept and immaculately cleaned, despite being over a thousand years old. He held it almost like a scepter, with the head placed on the ground in front of him, with both hands resting on the butt of the weapon.

"We will face the tactician in due time, head on," Walhart said coldly as Excellus cowered before him. "Glory is meeting your enemy's eyes, and watching his hope drain away with his life. We will not behave as cowards, sliding a knife between their ribs when they least expect it. The truly strong need not such craven tactics."

"O-of course, milord," Excellus said weakly, bowing so low that he was practically prostrate against the marble floor. "I spoke out of turn; I yield to your wisdom."

Walhart seemed to believe Excellus' deference was honest as much as Leinhart did; he snorted derisively, almost resembling a bull with the head piece he wore. "Be gone, worm," he spat. Excellus needed no other excuse, and quickly warped away. Walhart then turned to Regnier. "The winter ends soon, and so we march to war once more. The Hironeiden Army is massing most of their troops along the western border; my men will meet them head on."

"While the Hironeiden Army acts as bait, the tactician will almost certainly attempt to turn Yen'fay's vassals against us," Regnier responded. "Leinhart, command Darokha to increase his patrols. I want the Ylissean leadership found and detained."

"Detained, milord?" Leinhart asked. "Not killed?"

"Not if we can help it, no," Regnier answered. "If nothing else, they will be useful as fodder against the Fell Dragon. That being said, if they will not see reason, I will not waste time and men ensuring their survival. If they insist on being a nuisance, then remove them. But only if you lack an alternative."

"As you wish, milord," Leinhart said unhappily. While he could see that the Ylisseans were certainly capable fighters, he doubted that keeping them alive was worth the cost. But as ever, he yielded to Regnier.

"When you have determined which of the dynasts they will attempt to turn first," Regnier continued, "dispatch Lucretia to stop them. I doubt she will succeed, but she will at least weaken them. Should you fail to stop them from undermining Yen'fay and igniting rebellion in Chon'sin, then you must at least ensure Fort Steiger does not fall to them. Now go."

"As you will, milord," Leinhart said dutifully, before disappearing in a cloud of black and purple smoke.

Regnier then turned back to Walhart. "Do not underestimate the Ylisseans, Walhart," Regnier warned. "They killed you once, and they could manage to do so again. And they are not alone this time."

Walhart snorted dismissively. "They killed me in that blighted future by using cowards' tactics," he rebutted. "Things will be different this time. I will wipe out this last pack of insurgents, and all who aid them, and unite the world! I will free mankind from the shackles of the gods, and usher in an everlasting Golden Age. I am inexorable!" he thundered.

Regnier simply hummed contemplatively in response. _We shall see,_ he mused.

 **AN:**

 **Soon, the war begins in earnest. Robin and Cherche tied the knot, the first half of the Hironeiden Army has arrived in Valm, and Valm prepares for their end of the war.**

 **I'd originally planned on waiting until the Valm Arc was completely finished to update, but my little Christmas special is obviously kinda time-sensitive and I didn't want y'all reading it in the middle of spring lmao.**


	96. UPDATE

**IMPORTANT NOTICE**

Unfortunately for those of you that enjoy this story, I'm announcing an official hiatus. Writing over the past year and a half has been difficult due to various factors, like near-constant overtime at work and other obligations. As it stands, I'm about halfway done with the Valm arc and even have snippets of the last one done. But recently one of my friends, the very one who bullied me into this, decided to embrace the very worst statistic regarding military veterans: suicide. For obvious reasons, this story is now a rather painful thing to even think about, let alone write.

Frankly, I don't know if I'll be returning to this story. It's not a lack of want, because I want more than anything to finish this story more than anything now. It's not all I have left of him or anything, but I only started this for him. So I want to finish it for him. But *minor plot spoiler* the subject matter is going to hit way too close to home at some points, and I just don't know if I'll be able to handle it. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. I'll muscle through what I can, but some things are just going to have to wait until I'm ready. And I don't know when that'll be. If I never return, I'm sorry. If you're worried I'll never return and you want to know how the story ends, I can slap together a brief synopsis for you, but keep in mind that it will spoil the story if I do return.

If you want to kill yourself, don't. If you insist on doing it anyway, at least grant yourself the mercy of a quick death, don't do it in a way that prolongs your suffering like my friend did. If you have family or friends or pets relying on you, make sure they're accounted for before you do it.

I won't judge you if you don't want to live. Life is hard, and everyone has a breaking point. I won't force you to live or browbeat you for thinking life's not worth living. Maybe to you, it isn't. I can respect your right to self-determination, even if that determination is termination.

But at least give yourself a chance. Do everything you can to get rid of the feeling before you act on it. I'll even lend an ear if you need someone to talk to (no promises as to the quality though). Just don't give up if you don't have to.


End file.
